Darkness stirs
by Nilbrethiliel
Summary: A brutal attack leaves the Elves of Ithilien on the brink of destruction,depriving them from their Prince.Will Aragorn,Gimli &Faramir be able to help defeat a foe who cannot be slain? gasp A miracle happened! I updated!
1. Premonitions

Disclaimer: I don't own anything, everything belongs to Tolkien.(. I'd certainly love to own a cute Elf or other, but as life goes.... The Elves have left Earth *sniff*  
  
Well, guys, that's my first fanfic, so please be nice und understanding. I apologize in advance for any grammatical errors, breaks in style and misspelt words, for my first language is not English, although it is my favourite one for sure. Any corrections, advice and are very much appreciated. PLZ R&R!!!  
  
DARKNESS STIRS  
  
Chapter 1 Premonitions  
  
He was running, his lungs aching, it felt as if an iron band was cast around them, tightening with every breath he was taking. He had never felt so exhausted, not even when he had been running after the Uruk-hai who had taken Merry and Pippin as prisoners. *Ah well, you didn't have your body nearly cut in half that time, lad, did you?* He smirked at his own thoughts. *What does Gimli always say?* "Curse the Elvish humour! They could be being eaten by a warg and the most likely thing they'd do is to complain about bad breath."  
  
A sharp pain brought him back to reality just to see the forest floor raising to meet him *How odd...* When he hit the ground, the air was squeezed out of his lungs. He laid there gasping, his world thrown into a fast spin. He closed his eyes, fighting back the grasps of unconsciousness which threatened to engulf him. Yes, sleep was a very enticing thought at the moment. *I've just to close my eyes and everything will be alright. But...Lo!I'm an Elf .I only close my eyes when I die!* With that thought he jerked up, the sudden motion causing a tidal wave of nausea to wash over him. He groped blindly around for something to help him stand up, finally finding a tree .Leaning on it for support he started to drag himself up. Half-way to his goal his knees buckled and he fell down on his hands and knees with a sharp hiss of pain. It took him two more tries until he was able to stand on his own again. Now he was breathing so loud he was barely able to hear the fell screeches of his pursuers. They were drawing nearer.  
  
*Run you fool, run!* He stumbled on, desperately, knowing that there was no chance, he even couldn't die fighting for he had lost his knifes and bow in the battle. *Pretty warrior you make. What would Arador say if he were her to see you?* Legolas could picture his former mentors face, sneering "Fleeing, hîr nîn? I thought you knew better than to escape while others are fighting for their life!" [my lord] He stopped dead in his tracks, his momentum carrying him on. Desperately he flung himself on the side, only just avoiding the end of the cliffs he had been unknowingly heading for. The new contact with the hard ground nearly knocked him senseless. His side was on fire. Supporting himself on his hands and knees he looked down. A long drop below him there was a wild stream swirling, breaking against numerous rocks. In his desperate mind they reminded him of huge and terrible fangs, just waiting to close on him.  
  
Frantically he looked around him. He was surrounded. There was no escape. Realizing this, peace settled on him, even the pain seemed to diminish. *Well, that's it* Somehow the thought was comforting. With a last effort he stood up, looking defiantly into their faces, every inch the royalty he was. "You shall not have me! Elbereth Gilthoniel" And with that he turned around and jumped down into the waters.  
  
*****************  
  
Aragorn was riding ahead, alertly scanning the area. The journey had been uneventful so far, as expected. He sighed contentedly; apparently peace had finally settled on the realm of Gondor. Though Sauron's defeat had been several years ago, it had taken a long time and a lot of combined efforts of Gondor and Rohan to restore peace and safety in their lands, for not all dark creatures had been destroyed. Still now there were enough Orcs and wargs roaming Middle Earth to keep his men fully occupied, although the occasional squirmishes were rather unfortunate for the Orcs daring to trespass into allied realms. Not that he gave a damn about them. Legolas and his Elves had done a good job in cleansing Ithilien from evil, and his Elven colony Eryn Feredron [Northern Forest]was ever prospering and growing, a very comforting thought in a time in which the numbers of the remaining Eldar seemed to decrease by days.  
  
Now he was here, on the way to his dearest friend, feeling as excited with anticipation as a child on his birthday.  
  
" ...and then, with a loud splash, he fell from the tree into the pool! You should have seen him: the proud and prissy Prince of Mirkwood soaking wet, his lovely blond hair entangled with seaweed. Well, after all he's so fond of green that maybe he wasn't so bothered with it after all, though the shades of red on his face told a different story... Ahh, a vision I will treasure in my heart for all eternity!" Roaring laughter made Aragorn turn around.  
  
Behind him rode Gimli, son of Gloin, current Lord of the Glittering Caves. Short, proud and completely uncomfortable. The way he was shifting in the saddle he might as well have been riding an anthill instead of a pony.  
  
Next to him rode Eldarion, Aragorn's son. Aragorn felt his heart fill with pride as he regarded his offspring; he was the living proof of his parents' love. Seldom had the looks of two people been merged so perfectly like in him. While he had his father's silver eyes and the same unruly hair, the Elvish traits marked him clearly as a descendant of the Firstborn: pointed ears, pale, faintly glowing skin and an intense look full of wisdom even at such a short age as twelve. He was lithe and tall for his age, and breathtakingly handsome, destined to break many hearts in the near future. Truly his mother's son.  
  
"A Silvan Elf falling from a tree? You must be joking! The trees would never allow such a thing! The way those Elves and trees behave they might as well be lovers. Nay Gimli, are you sure you didn't mistake a Galadhrim for Legolas?"  
  
"But it was that annoying treehugger! Such a delightful sight..." Gimli grinned so broadly that he would have been able to swallow his axe if he'd cared to.  
  
*Ah, the tree incident...* Aragorn chuckled. He and Gimli had made sure that Legolas would never live it down. Even now it was a running gag among them, a never failing way to swipe away the usual smug expression on Legolas' face.  
  
"I've never seen a face as red as his" hollered Gimli.  
  
*And if looks could kill, you would have been fulminated on the spot.* Truly, Aragorn had seldom seen the Elf so angry, casting around looks usually reserved for the minions of Sauron. *Nay, he did not kill you, Gimli, he had something far better in store for you.*  
  
"If my memory doesn't deceive me, his face wasn't nearly as red as your beard pink..." Aragorn's voice trailed of.  
  
"Pink?" Eldarion was trying very hard simply to sound interested, while fighting to keep a straight face. He loved to listen to the antics of his father and his two friends. "How on earth does a dwarfish beard turn pink?" he asked sweetly, his grin acquiring somewhat wolfish qualities.  
  
"Strider!" Gimli hissed from behind, his glare shooting daggers.  
  
Blatantly ignoring him Aragorn launched right into the tale. "Well my son, it happened somehow overnight..."  
  
***Flashback***  
  
Aragorn entered the dining hall, yawning. It was still too early in the morning to be up and about, even for a king, but somehow a strange foreboding had dragged him out of his sleep. After turning and tossing for a while he decided that he could as well get up and enjoy some hours of peace before the daily madhouse claimed him. He froze as he glimpsed the slender figure sitting in an overstuffed chair. Usually, the sight of Legolas with a book on his lap wasn't very frightening, but Aragorn still felt as if someone had emptied a bucket full of icy water on him.  
  
"Good morning Legolas." The Elf glanced up at him with the utmost innocent expression.  
  
"Morning Strider."  
  
Aragorn's insides twitched.  
  
"Well, what are you doing here?"  
  
Legolas looked down at the book and the up again at the king. Elegantly arching an eyebrow he answered mildly, "Well, looks like I'm reading?", clearly questioning Aragorn's intellectual capability. Now Aragorn's insides were suffering a violent twitching fit  
  
"Alright. What have you done to him"  
  
"Done to whom?" Legolas asked sweetly, his gaze unwavering from Aragorn's,  
  
"You perfectly know who I mean!", hissed Aragorn  
  
"Why in Eru's name should I want to do anything to the dwarf, Strider?" If possible, Legolas' expression became more innocent, smiling so sweetly that it was almost possible to overlook a predatory gleam in his eyes. But only just. It made Aragorn positively sick. But before he could retort anything a tremendous yell rang through the palace. Aragorn shot a dark look at his friend who now was wearing a grin so broad it nearly split his face in two.  
  
"LEGOLAS!!! Where's that blasted Elf? Legolas, you damn treecuddler, show yourself!"  
  
A raging bull stampeded through the palace, drawing near to the dining hall, where Aragorn was seriously considering if a king could be prosecuted for throttling a certain Elf Lord now seated fully at ease next to him, seemingly absorbed with inspecting his impeccable fingernails.  
  
The door burst open, and the bull stormed in. Only...it was not a bull. Nor an Orc. Even a balrog paled at comparison. It was something far more hideous.. A Dwarf with a pink beard.  
  
Aragorn's mouth fell open as he tried to digest the vision. Before him stood Gimli, son of Gloin, Lord of the Glittering Caves, with a pink beard. It was not an ordinary pink beard, for it was braided and adorned with matching pink ribbons and... Could he glimpse rose petals? He certainly smelt their distinct scent.*Yes, the Elves are the very masters of hairstyling. Pity they're fading from Middle earth. And Legolas might be fading quicker than he himself might like...*  
  
With a roar Gimli charged for the corner in which Aragorn and Legolas were standing. Idly Aragorn considered coming to Legolas' aid, but wisely refraining from such a suicidal action, he simply sidestepped out of the Dwarf's way. After all, he had a kingdom to rule. A swift brush and a blur caught from the corner of his eyes told him that the prince had seen to his safety by himself.  
  
"Legolas...Wait till I lay my hands on you. My axe is yearning to trade sweet talks with you! Be still! Coward, stand still and face your foe! Face your doom!"  
  
Legolas had quickly leapt to the opposite side of the table, and now Dwarf and Elf were both circling it with incredible speed in a merry if somewhat odd sort of dance.  
  
"Morning Master Dwarf. Nice to see you. Is pink now the spring's new fashion?" Legolas calmly greeted his slightly irate friend as he nimbly ducked an iron vase thrown at him viciously. Now Aragorn was very seriously considering not only to throttle Thranduil's son (although Thranduil's brat was far more fitting at the moment), but to roast him slowly on fire. Yes... he certainly liked that thought. Aragorn was surprised that Dwarfs had the ability to squeak. He had never heard one to do so. But then again he had not heard of a pink Dwarf either. Gimli was clearly about to explode or suffer a stroke and was stopped short of simply upheaving the table and smashing it on the Elf's relaxed face by a beautiful and melodious voice, which now wasn't as melodious.  
  
"What's this noise? Gimli, Legolas explain yourselves!" a stern voice commanded. As one body everybody in the room turned around to the source of the voice. Aragorn groaned, Legolas interestedly inspected the mosaic on the floor and Gimli looked suddenly as pale as the walls of the White City. Arwen Undomiel, the Evenstar, looked at them levelly, gracing each one with something simply described as 'the Look'. Lord Elrond had sometimes graced Aragorn, Elladan and Elrohir with something quite close to it, although Arwen had definitely risen it to new heights. Even Glorfindel, the twice- born Balrog slayer had flinched when being at the receiving end of her 'look'. However, when Arwen's gaze eventually rested on Gimli even she lost her composure. At first she merely gaped, then gasped. Finally, she shot a horrified look at Legolas. And then... she laughed. Oh, at first it had been just a twitching of the corners of her mouth, then the sounds of a stifled laughter till it turned into a full-grown laughing fit. She stood there holding her sides, nearly doubling over with laughter. It was more like howling. Legolas' grin broadened immensely while now the last drop of colour that might have lingered on Gimli's face fled. He looked completely dumbstruck.  
  
*Elves,* Aragorn cursed inwardly, *one worse than the other. And I'm married to the worst one!*  
  
Sensing his opponent's momentary distraction Legolas shot a farewell "Pink suits you, Gimli. Enhances the colour of your eyes!" and darted past them heading for the palace gardens.  
  
*** End of flashback***  
  
Yes, that sight had been priceless!  
  
"... so, you see my son, crimson is not a colour only suiting Elves, but very becoming to dwarfs, too!"  
  
With that Aragorn sent his son and his men who had listened very attentively into fits of roaring laughter, and soon all the company but a certain irate dwarf was howling with laughter.  
  
Eldarion nearly fell of his horse, his side aching as he suddenly felt icy fingers running down his spine, leaving a dreadful feeling of ill foreboding. He had inherited that particular Elven gift of foresight from her mother, as well the ability to understand the trees.  
  
"Ada", he said softly, ..."Ada." [Dad]  
  
Sensing the urgency in his son's voice Aragorn turned around.  
  
"Ada, listen!"  
  
With a movement of his hand Aragorn silenced all of his men. He strained his ears, his head cocked to one side. He did hear nothing. Nothing at all. No bird, no animals, nor any other living beings. A dreadful feeling settled on him, urging him to unsheathe his sword.  
  
"Ada...The trees are weeping...Elvish blood has been shed today!"  
  
TBC.  
  
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Please rate!!! My life depends on it. 


	2. Elvish blood has been shed today

DARKNESS STIRS  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. ANYTHING AT ALL...*sniff*  
  
ATHELAS/ DOT: THANK YOU, THANK YOU, you're both my first reviewers! *hugs you fiercely, squeezing the air out of you* I'm happy you liked the first chapter! I'm afraid this one is a very dark one, but I don't intend to keep the humour from popping out of the bag. There will be humourous chapters (humourous in my dreams), too, when it fits the story, but it will be mainly adventure and angst, lots of angst. But everybody knows that our friends are very prone to banter... and Elves are very mischievous creatures...;-)  
  
WARNING: This chapter contents violent images, so don't read it if you have a weak stomach. I'm not to be held responsible for damaged screens or keyboards, so please don't sue...  
  
Since English is not my first language I appreciate any kind of advise and corrections.   
  
ENJOY, PLZ R&R!!!  
  
Chapter 2: ELVISH BLOOD HAS BEEN SHED TODAY  
  
"Elvish blood has been shed today..."  
  
The words still rang in Aragorn's ears, leaving a dreadful feeling. As he unsheathed his sword he heard his men follow his example immediately. Within a second the whole company, 30 soldiers all in all, was battle-ready, some holding swords, others bows with arrows nocked, ready to fell anything that dared to come within reach.  
Gimli moved closer to Eldarion, his battle-axe firmly in both his hands.  
The guards positioned themselves closer around the king and his heir, forming a protective circle. Everybody would fight until their last breath to hold this position.  
  
Something was definitely wrong. It was not only the lack of sounds. Now that he thought of it, they were already well into Elvish territorry, and by now they should have encoutered a border patrol,usually led by Legolas himself.  
Yes, it was the lack of Elvish presence that unnerved him at most.  
  
The company rode on, warily eyeing the surrounding trees, attentive at any sound or shadow. But there was no trace of life at all.  
  
As they arrived at a big clearing they saw it.  
  
Aragorn had had his share of violent death, seeing more corpses in more conditions than he cared to remember. But most certainly he had never encountered anything like this. The mere sight made him violently sick. He could hear some of his men retching. Before him laid a whole Elvish border patrol, or the remains of it. From the condition of the bodies he could tell that they had met their death only a few hours ago.   
  
And they had met it in the most gruesome fashion.  
  
The Elvish warriors hadn't been merely killed, it looked more like they had been slaughtered. All over the clearing there were bodies whose limbs had been literally ripped off, chopped off heads, disemboweling remains, some bodies were split in half or simply reduced to torsos. The sickeningly sweet stench of blood was in the air, and the forest floor was all in that blackish red colour of clotted blood. Among the bodies Aragorn caught the gleams of blades and knifes.  
  
This hadn't been killing, it had been a carnage. Whoever had done this had poured all his hatred on the bodies of the dead, intent to mutilate them and destroying the beauty of the fairest beings af Middle Earth.  
  
Aragorn slid off his horse, steading himself on it as his knees threatened to give away under him. He clung on his reins, afraid of what he might find if he ventured further into the clearing.  
  
"Ada..." [Dad] whimpering his son clung to the mane of his horse, his face pale and drawn in shock and pain. A sob broke, more followed until he was shacking with sobs and breathing raggedly.  
Aragorn was completely frozen, unable to move, unable to comfort his son. In a distant part of his brain he was aware of his son's sobbing and the soothing sounds from Gimli who was craddling Eldarion and rocking him like a small child. In a distant part of his brain he was very grateful to his friend for that.  
  
"What happened here, Aragorn?" Gimli whispered hoarsely.  
  
Aragorn licked his lips. Gimli's words seemed to waken him from his trance. With an effort he tore his eyes from the massacre and turned towards him.  
  
" I don't know."  
  
Drawn as if by an invisible lead he ventured into the clearing, careful not to step on any parts of a body. With each step the ground made a sucking sound as it was soaking wet with blood.  
*How many have died?* The bodies were strewn all over the clearing, it looked as if it had been dozens of elves. But Aragorn knew from experience that a border patrol usually consisted of eight to ten warriors, and the company to greet him about fifteen.  
*If this is the patrol Legolas led to meet us..*.He didn't even want to finish this thought, utterly terrified of what it implied. Suddenly he found himself making up a hundred of reasons why Legolas had been kept from coming to meet him personally, as he had always done on the numerous occasions before, discarding each and every one at once, knowing all to well that nothing could have kept the Elf from doing so. Nothing short of death.  
  
As he moved through the bodies a glimpse of white caught his eye. It was the ebony handle of a long knife. A very well-known knife. One that together with its twin had guarded his back uncountable times. Automatically he bent down to retrieve it. *How odd of Legolas to leave his knife lying around. He's so tidy..* The thought struck him hard, he felt his heart stop as he realized what he had been thinking. He stared hard at the kinfe in his hand unwilling to look at the filigrane engravings, to read the Elvish runes: Legolas Thranduilion, Caun o Eryn Lasgalen [Legolas, son of Thranduil, Prince of Greenwood]  
  
A twig snapped, and Aragorn whirled around, swinging the knife, ready to thrust it into anybody lurking behind him.  
  
Gimli stopped abruptly, instinctively bringing up his axe to block the swipe of the knife. Metall clattered against metall. The point of the knife was very few inches from his throat, steady, unwavering. But it didn't slide forward to meet him as it had been intended to. He swallowed and allowed his gaze to leave the knife and wander upwards, toward the King's face.   
Aragorn blinked. There was not a flicker of recognition in his eyes as he stared down at him. He shook his head as if to dispel something. Slowly, ever slowly Aragorn let his arm drop, still clutching the knife tightly.  
Gimly allowed himself the breath out, only now realizing that he had been holding his breath. He had not intended to sneak up on Aragorn, certainly not here, not now. But the years spent traveling with the Elf and the former Ranger had made Gimly acquire a lot of stealth.  
  
Suddenly his heart stopped beating. He could feel it bursting. Following Aragorn's slow relaxing movement Gimli's eyes fell on the knife.  
  
Trembling he reached out to stroke the engravings only to flinch and withdraw his fingers as if being burnt.   
"The coat of arms of the house of Oropher..." His voice broke.  
  
"Legolas is here, Gimli."  
  
Aragorn shuddered at those words. Suddenly it dawned him that it had been himself to utter them. He was completely stunned.  
His eyes locked with Gimli's, it was like looking into a mirror. In Gimli's eyes he saw the same turmoil of emotions which threatened to drown him: confusion, disbelief, anger, pain and grief...Immense grief. He felt like someone was tearing his heart in two, slowly, cruelly, ruthlessly. An agony swept over him, washing away reality and sanity. *Maybe that's like to be mad...* he wondered idly. He certainly felt as if the rational part of his brain was standing beside him, interestedly observing and analyzing him. *Yes, you're mad.*  
  
"Where?"  
  
Yanked back to reality Aragorn looked around him. He had retrieved the knife from beneath two darkhaired Elves, so they certainly couldn't be him. They had to be Noldorian. From Imladris. He looked at them, but they were not reconisable. At least at first sight. And he didn't want to find out at the moment, either. He didn't have the strength to find more dead friends at any rate. Childhood friends, Elves who had been his companions and mentors. By sheer force of will he overstepped the bodies and let his gaze sweep over the site. As far as he could see all the elves wore the colours of Eryn Feredron, green and grey. It had been a clever compromise of Legolas, green being one of the coulours of the Silvan Elves, grey one of the colours both the Galadhrim and the Rinvendell Elves wore.   
He walked through the site, discarding the darkhaired Noldorians, stooping over the fair-haired ones, always discarding them as Galadhrim as he saw them wearing armoury. Legolas was Silvan, they never wore armour, not even in war. Gimli and him had to literally beat Legolas into waering armour at Helm's Deep.  
From time to time he would bend over a Silvan Elf, only to find that he was too short, too tall, didn't have the right frame. Each time tensing and then sighing relievedly, feeling guilty for doing so.  
After a few minutes he came to the fringes of the battle-field. Another Silvan Elf. This time with the right height and the right frame. A look at his face send a wave of nausea washing over him. So far he had been able to stomach the sight of the mutilated bodies, but now... Were once there had been and undoubtedly handsome face now a bloody mass had taken its place, grey eyes looking accusingly at him. Aragorn's inside were in a turmoil, heaving and twisting, only to turn to ice as his eyes fell on the Elf's hand. He was clutching the twin of the knife Aragorn was holding at the moment. The same engravings. There was no doubt. Legolas.  
  
Unable to stand any longer Aragorn dropped on his knees, using the knife to support himself.  
"I'm sorry my friend. I'm sorry I'm too late. I failed you."  
  
Gimli had followed Aragorn, each time holding his breath as he bend over the Elves and allowing himself to breath again when they were discarded. With every Elf discarded Gimli's apprehension grew, as well the hope that somehow his dearest friend was not to be found among the dead, that he might have escaped. Although he knew that the idea was ridiculous he clung at it desperately, for hope was the last thing to loose.  
Suddenly Aragorn dropped to his knees.  
This could only mean one thing.  
  
"Legolas." He felt as if someone had dealt him a blow to his stomach. He doubled up. *No, this can't be. That Elf... He can't be dead. He won't dare to die without my permission. Oh, if this infuriating treecuddler is dead, I'll kill him myself. I'll have his hide dried and salted...* Not caring that his thoughts didn't make any sense he stepped forward. A cracking sound made him look down. He almost wished he hadn't, for he was standing on a bow. Legolas' bow.  
Hastily he stepped down. The bow had been snapped in two, unable to bear the Dwarf's weight. Gimli picked it up gently, craddling it against his chest.  
  
"Aragorn...I broke his bow...I... He'll have my hide for this...He..."  
  
"He's dead. We came to late, Gimli."  
  
Gimli looked at him. HIs vision was blurred. Blurred from the tears stinging in his eyes. From the tears rolling down his cheeks, leaving hot streaks on their way.  
  
An anger like never before seized the King. With a quick movement he straightened, unsheathing Anduril, the sword that had been broken and reforged, he held it high above his head, pointing at the sky.  
  
"Im, Aragorn Arathornion, Aran Elessar Telcontar o Gondor, i Edhelharn, gweston, ah sereg nîn, annathan i-acharn Legolas! Gurth an chorth! Gurth an chorth Edhil o Eryn Feredron!"  
  
[I, Aragorn, son of Arathorn, King Elessar of the House of Telcontar of Gondor, the Elfstone, I swear by my blood, I will avenge you! Death to the enemy, Death to the enemy of the Elves of Eryn Feredron!]  
  
He stood there, tall, proud. A King terrible to behold. Terrible in his wrath.  
  
"Aye. Gurth an chorth i Edhil! [Death to the foes of the elves.]"  
  
At the words Aragorn turned around. There stood Eldarion, his son. His face flushed from the tears, and extremely pale under the red spots. His eyes were wide, but it weren't the wide frightened eyes of a child. His silvery eyes were smouldering, burning with hatred. The hatred was so intense it sent shivers crawling down Aragon's spine. For a moment he understood what it meant to have the wrath of the elves descend upon you. *Oh my son. I wish I could trade my life to make you forget this.* Aragorn shuddered. No child should see this, it was horrible enough to break a warrior, more so a child. But looking into his son's eyes he knew that it would not break his son. But he didn't find his son in these eyes either. He only found hatred. Shivering he reached out at his son, embracing him tightly, feeling immensely relieved as his embrace was returned as tightly.   
  
"Ion nîn... I'm sorry." [my son]  
  
How long both were standing there, embracing each other, he didn't know. Maybe minutes, maybe hours. He did not know nor did he care. It just felt good to hold his son.  
Footsteps approaching made him turn round. It was time for Strider to retreat and King Elessar to take his place.  
  
"Your majesty...My King..." Yardil, his Captain, stopped hesitantly, not knowing if he was intruding.  
  
"Report." Aragorn spoke curtly, not trusting his voice to form longer words.  
  
Yardil swallowed hard. "We've counted sixteen bodies so far. At least we think there are sixteen. Some are... in a condition..." he cleared his throat, waiting his King to bid him to continue. Aragorn nodded again. "Three Elves are outside the clearing, they obviously tried to escape. They didn't get far. We haven't found any trace of the attackers, no blood, no bodies, no... no footprints. Nothing at all. It's like them vanishing into thin air. This is clearly not the work of Orcs."  
  
"No, not Orcs. If it had been Orcs the clearing would been strewn with thrice the number of dead Orc bodies. *And Legolas wouldn't let himself be killed by Orcs* Even... Even them wouldn't have committed such a carnage. Besides they wouldn't leave the bodies. They wouldn't let food lying around." Gimli cut in.  
"Whatever did this took them completely unaware. I think black magic is involved. Otherwise this..."   
  
Aragorn nodded again, acquiescing the information. Whatever had done this had been able to defeat some of the finest warriors of Middle Earth. It reeked of black magic and Mordor.  
  
"Lasser. Kelbil. Finled. Ride to Eryn Feredron, give notice to the Elves of this. Inform the border patrols you encounter and send them to meet us, we may need their help. Go!" The three men nodded and jumped on their horses, leaving the clearing at breakneck speed, as if pursued by Sauron himself.  
Addressing the rest of his men he began barking orders.  
"Find sticks to make stretchers. Use the bedrolls. Gather the bodies, wrap them in the blankets."   
  
Soon the whole company was bustling, busy with the jobs, relieved to have something to do to take their minds from the gruesome surroundings, an oppurtinity to escape.  
Gimli brought his blanket, gently wrapping his friend's body in it. Aragorn took one of the banners off his standards, and wrapped it aound him, too. He lifted the bundle and placed it on his horse. When he had mounted it he put his arms in front of him, craddling him, like the many times he had done when Legolas had been injured and Aragorn had to take him either to Imladris or to Mirkwood. Only this time not even the healing abilities of Lord Elrond would help him.  
  
Quickly the stretchers had been made and the bundles laid on them, the weapons collected. As some of the bodies were unrecognisable, maybe the weapons could give some comfort to the realtives. Maybe.  
  
"Everything`s ready? Well, then, let's go. Company, MARCH!"  
And the company set in motion.  
TBC...  
  
Yes, I know, I'm evil, destroying all these pretty Elves like this, but... I'm sure I have orcish ancestors somewhere...mwahahahaha...  
  
You see this beautiful button down here? It's a nice button. IT'S YOUR FRIEND. It needs your affection. So, please, press the button ;-) 


	3. Memories in Blood

Disclaimer: To read the usual rabble look the first chapters...  
  
First of all I apologise for the delay, I had planned to post this chapter earlier, but with one thing and another...  
Since this one is nearly as long as the previous two together I hope it'll make up for the delay.  
  
University is starting again on monday (yuk), so I won't be able to post more than twice a week, more likely only once. Yes, this are the odds we fight against every day, and loose... (I'm in a very depressed mood today, for my spring break is OVER!!! *whines loudly*)  
WHITE WOLF: Thank you *bows reverently* I promise there will be loads of blood and gore further on, I'll bathe them in it ... although maybe I shouldn't mention the word bath with a certain irate ex-ranger striding around *Aragorn glowers*  
"Whatcha mean by that, mellon nîn?"  
Uhm, well, nothing really. It's just that you have been travelling for days now, and.. *ducks a fiery blow at her head*  
  
DJTCLuva:No, he's not dead... yet *cackles evilly* Since I've just borrowed them for the occasion, I'll have to return them eventually... But nothing in the contract especiefied the circumstances and conditions... mwahahaha  
  
CHEYSULI:Thank you very much for your help with the grammar!!! I appreciate it very much. Sometimes it's just difficult to write something which differs only slightly from how it would be said in the native language, and then you get all mixed up. I really try to do my best. thank you again ;-)  
  
Since English is not my first language I appreciate any kind of advise and corrections :-)  
ENJOY, PLZ R&R!!!  
  
Chapter 3: MEMORIES IN BLOOD  
Slowly the awareness of his surroundings returned. Although he was fighting hard to remain in the cozy blackness something was determinedly pulling him out of it. White-hot agony swept over him and the first realization sliced through his numbed brain. *Oh no, I'm alive...* Now there was no way back. He was awake. And regretted it whole-heartedly. He felt like being danced on by a hord of Trolls, there was not a fibre in his body which didn't ache. A dull pain throbbed in his skull *How did Gimli get inside my head? And what is he mining in there?* Mentally cursing the second realization dawned on him. He was lying on the ground, his face scraping against the rough surface. Again.   
  
*My face is certainly developing quite an affinity to the ground,* he thought wryly, *that's now the third time today. It's really getting quite annoying. At least I hope there's no permanent damage. It would be quite unfitting, Elf-Lords are supposed to be wise and fair.* 'And you've never been the first, now maybe you're neither' a voice inside his head mocked him.  
He groaned and tried to open his eyes. And decided that it had been a stupid idea. A very stupid idea. White light exploded inside his skull, augmenting the pain he felt tenfold, his mind spinning quickly, yellow spots dancing in front of his eyes. Slowly everything calmed down. Still lying on the ground with his eyes closed he noticed the ground beneath him shacking.*An earthquake, here, in Ithilien?* Patiently he waited the tremours to subside, but they didn't. It was not the gound which was shacking, but him. He was trembling. Slowly the fog lifted from his senses. He was damp, his clothes clinging uncomfortably on him. But there was more. It was an akward feeling, very unfamiliar. So far he had felt it only three times in his lifetime, so it took him a little bit to recognize it. He was freezing. The shock of his discovery yanked him completely back to reality. He opened his eyes to slits, and after the throbbing in his head had receded to a bearable level, Legolas started to search his brain for an explanation.  
  
*Why am I here? What happened? Where are the others?*  
  
The last thing he remembered was water. Icy cold water, all around him. And then...a sharp crack...and blackness.   
Well, that was maybe the reason why he was wet, but it didn't explain how he had got into the water. Images flashed through his brain. Elves. Crying Elves, fighting, dying. The sounds of metall scraping against metall, sclicing into flesh. Cries of agony.   
Legolas whimpered.   
  
His men... His patrol... All dead?  
  
***** Flashback*****  
  
"We should meet them any time, now, hîr nîn.[my lord] What are your plans for the Dwarf this time?"  
  
Legolas shot Lólindir, his brother-in-law, a withering glare. Lólindir simply loved to tease him by my-lording him, fully aware how much Legolas despised to be called that. When he had come to Eryn Feredron for the first time he had even insisted to call Legolas "his majesty", only stopping after Legolas nearly fulfilled his threat to hang him from the highest tree by his pointy ears. Yes, torturing the Elf-Lord was fun.  
  
Wide, innocent, grey eyes met blue ones.  
  
"Pray, friend, what plans are you speaking of?" Legolas wore such a dulcet expression which made Lólindir want to run and hide in the next hole available. He snorted. Whatever Legolas had been scheming was all well with him, he'd simply join the games and enjoy. It would be definitely easy to approach the Dwarf afterwards and plan retaliation in return. Impartiality was his motto. He supported whoever in need..  
  
Legolas chuckled as he watched his friend. By his dreamy expression he could tell that Lólindir was probably scheming pranks on his own. And he would have Gimli's help for sure. *After I've finished with him* Legolas grinned wolfishly. Yes, he had many little surprises in store for Gimli... *And it will be a pleasure to enlist Eldarion. His ingenuity matches even the twins' * His eyes gleamed as he remebered Elladan and Elrohir. It was a pity they wouldn't join the party this time, but maybe it was better this way, at least he could be sure that his colony would still stand after they had left. Besides, if a war on two fronts was a difficult task, he certainly wouldn't stand a chance if the twins and Aragorn ganged up on him as well. And Eldarion's loyalty might be swayed... *It must run in the family Peredhil.* A streak strong enough to run through the generations undiminished until flowing into Aragorn. He had been as much a terror in Imladris as the twins, that for sure. After all, they had been his teachers. And Eldarion... Well, Arwen was as bad as 'Dan and 'Ro, and now the two branches of the house of Peredhil had merged, and some qualities doubled in force....  
Legolas smiled fondly thinking of Eldarion. It would be a pleasure to teach him Elvish ways. Legolas had been overjoyed and very honoured when Aragorn had asked him if he would take on Eldarion for a year to teach him all the skills of the wild and ways of fighting which his human mentors lacked. As much as Aragorn wanted, he had a kingdom to rule and could not spare time enough to be an efficient teacher. And since Ithilien was so close, who better than Legolas?  
  
"You'll see, Lólindir, just wait, see... and admire."  
  
Galdor rolled his eyes. Legolas was indeed in a very playful mood, he pitied Aragorn and Gimli. The older Elf reigned his horse and moved closer to the two Elfs. "What are you up to, you two Elflings?" Two fair heads turned towards the elder Elf, looking sheepishly. Galdor had been Legolas' First Guard since his birth, and as Legolas had moved to Ithilien he had followed his charge. Outsiders might take the two for kin for their great resemblances.   
  
Suddenly there was a loud twang and something hissed past Legolas ears.   
  
Lólindir gasped in pain. He looked down at himself, confused that there was an arrow protruding from his chest, wondering at the crimson stain spreading across his tunic. Why did Legolas look so shocked? He could hear Legolas call his name, but it seemed to come from very far away. He watched in slow motion Legolas jump from his horse in order to catch him before he hit the ground *I'm falling? Falling from my horse?*. As Legolas laid him gently to the ground, realization struck him like lightning. He had been hit. They were under attack.  
  
"Looks like I won't join the games anymore, Legolas..."  
  
"Don't say that, mellon nîn, everything will be alright...." Legolas whispered soothingly, concern and fear written all over his face. "You know we can't disappoint Gimli... He'll be very insulted should we choose to leave him be!"  
  
Lólindir chuckled dryly, blood trickling from a corner of his mouth. "Well, you'll have to manage that without me this time, my majesty."  
  
"Don't you dare. If you call me like that again I'll have you dangling by those pointy ears of yours!" Legolas jested, his voice shacking, his grey ears brimming with tears. He knew that the friend he was holding in his hands was on the way to the Halls of Mandos, his heart pierced by an arrow out of nowhere.  
  
"From the highest tree?"  
  
"Aye, from the highest tree."  
  
"That'll be quite a sight, don't you think, my majesty? I will always call you that, you nift, 'cause you're the king of your people, king of their hearts as true as you're my friend and brother... Tell Nilturiel I'm sorry... I love her... We'll meet again in Mandos! And see that it won't be too soon!" Lólindir smiled as his eyes glazed over and his body went limp in Legolas arms.  
  
Legolas stared at his dead friend. He felt completely numb, only dimly aware that the warriors around him had all released a volley of arrows to the direction from which the arrow had come. Legolas closed his friend's eyes, softly releasing him to the ground. Now there was a battle to fight, he would grief later.  
  
"Namaarie, mellon nîn."[Farewell my friend]  
  
A cry pierced the air, chilling the Elves to the bone. The horses whinnied fearfully, shifting nervously, some rearing, nearly throwing off their riders. Dark shapes dropped from the trees, positioning themselves around the mounted Elves.  
Legolas had never seen such hideous creatures. They where not so hideous for their outer appearance, but more from the evilness and the cruelty which was radiating from them like waves of heat. They where all black, black armour, black skin. It was not an ordinary blackness, but it rather seemed that all the light and colours were sucked by that intense darkness.  
White manes were falling on the creatures' shoulders, but the most terrible thing were their eyes: White, empty eyes, piercing and intense. Legolas shuddered.   
  
The creatures, twenty in all, cried ululatingly, and suddenly hell broke loose. The horses buckled and reared, unseating the warriors and dashing away, completely panick-stricken.  
The warriors leapt to their feets graciously, unsheathing their swords and knifes.  
  
"ELBERETH GILTHONIEL!" With that cry Legolas lunged at the foe standing next to him, swinging fiercely at him with his twin knifes. The creature blocked easily and attacked in return. Legolas parried the blow aimed at his head, the force of it making him stumble backwards. He had barely a chance to get over his surprise as the creature attacked again. This time Legolas ducked the swipe, and thrust forward himself, only to find his knife blocked. Immediately he shifted, only narrowingly avoiding the nasty-looking ragged blade. THEY WERE NOT ONLY AS STRONG AS ELVES, BUT AS QUICK AS WELL!   
  
Soon Legolas found himself driven more and more backwards, desperately blocking the many blows and thrusts raining on him. He had not attained any serious injury so far, but his body was covered with small cuts and briuses. He was frantically searching for a breech in his opponent's defense, finding none. Whatever this creature in front of him was, it was definitely a very skilled warrior.  
They were in engaged in a deadly sort of dance, ducking and avoiding the blows, encircling each other warily.  
As Legolas tripped over a stone he lost his balance and fell hard on the ground. The creature sneered, showing long white fangs, licking his lips with a split tongue, like a snake.   
"Weak Elf" it rasped, its voice sounding like dried leaves rattling in the wind. It thrust its blade down, ready to impale Legolas. Reacting instinctively he rolled off, swiping the creature's feet from beneath him. It fell with a grunt. Legolas jumped graciously on his feet, and seizing the opuurtunity, pinned the creature on the ground, driving the blade through its heart.  
  
White eyes stared upon him. The creature snarled... and grinned. It jumped to its feet itself, yanking the knife that had crossed him from side to side from his body, looked at it dismissively... and tossed it away.  
  
Legolas blinked. That... that was impossible. *I've just killed this creature. It has to be dead, not jumping up and grinning at me!* But it simply refused to die, quite on the contrary; with a an evil gnarl it drove its sword towards Legolas chest. Much too stupefied at this highly unusual refusal he reacted too slowly and leapt to the side only at the last moment, avoiding the mortal blow but not escaping the sword slicing through his right side. Blinding agony made him stagger, his other knife falling from his strenghtless hand.  
  
"Retreat! Retreat! They cannot be slain! Make it to the trees! Warn Eryn Feredron!" Galdor yelled. He had just killed his opponent twice, once stabbing him in the back, once slicing its stomach. Both times it had continued fighting as if it had been merely caressed. He had millenia of experience, but he certainly had never seen anything like this. Never!  
He could hear the warriors crying, dying. Few were left by now, mostly grieviously wounded. *Where is Legolas?* He searched frantically around him, only to see him stagger a few paces from him, clutching his right side, face contorted in pain. An evil creature leered at him, readying itself for the final blow. Galdor crossed the distance between himself and his charge like he had never moved before, just in time prevent its thrust at Legolas by chopping off the creature's arm which crumbled to dust as it fell on the ground. The creature howled in pain, its eyes darting from his stump to his new aggressor and back. Then it looked merely annoyed.   
Eyes widened in horror as both Elves watched the stump slowly regrow into a fully functioning arm. A hoarse laughter left the creature's throat, more like an evil cackle. Leisuredly it retrieved its sword, and bowing mockingly it lunged for Galdor's throat. Galdor parried the blow, but it was driven so viciously that his own blade broke. He stood there, disarmed, defensless.  
  
Legolas bent down and picked his knife up, the pain of the movement sending him nearly into unconsciousness. He had heard Galdor's sword break and terrified by the meaning of the sound he used every ounce of strenghth left to help him to a weapon. "Galdor, the kinfe!" Galdor turned his head at the source of the voice, deftly catching the weapon thrown at him. But it was too late. Sensing the Elf's momentary distraction the creature impaled him with its sword.   
  
Legolas cried in horror and anguish as he saw his friend murdered in front of his eyes. Oblivious of him, the creature started to hack at Galdor's body on the ground, tearing at his face with clawed fingers, chewing it with his fangs.   
Legolas turned around horrified, only to feel his blood turn to ice as he surveyed the area. It was a desastrous sight: all over the clearing there laid his warriors, dead or dying, defenseless at the brutal mutilation they were undergoing. The creatures feasted on their deeds, overtly enjoying the destruction of the Elves. From the corner of his eyes he glimpsed two Elves dissapear into the forest. He fervently hoped they would make it. They HAD to make it, somebody had to warn the colony and subsequently Faramir and Aragorn of this new threat.  
  
'Run, you fool, run!' A voice inside his head urged him on. With a last reluctant look over his shoulder he found his feet running into the forest, dragging him deeper into the dense thicket, away from the carnage.  
*There's nothing I could've done, nothing!* He kept repeating to himself, trying to calm his conscience. *I'm their leader! I should die with them! Galdor died because he saved me. It's my fault! My fault! Why didn't I sense anything. Why didn't the trees warn us? They were hiding in the trees. In the trees! It is my fault!* Incoherents thoughts raced though his head, both condemning and condoning. The fire on his right side spread all over his body, every breath laboured, threatening to burst his ribcage. *At least three broken ribs, I think, and the lung is punctured. How many more are bruised, I don't know, I certainly feel like all of'em have been ripped off and put together again in the wrong places... No, I've never done things halfway, have I?*   
  
"Follow the fleeing Elves!" a fell voice rasped behind him. His blood pounded so loud in his veins he was hardly able to hear them. But he could feel their malice drawing ever nearer.  
  
***** End of Flashback*****  
  
He had run to the cliffs, and jumped down into the waters. The current had swiped him away from them, from their guttural cries, their hatred-filled snarls. How long he had been in the stream, fighting the current from pushing him under, battling the its icy embrace, receiving blows as he crashed against the rocks he did not know, it could've been minutes or hours. To him it had seemed ages. Before he had given in to unconsciousness he had heard the roar of a waterfall, of tons of water crashing down, he had felt himself falling, and then...   
  
Legolas pulled himself to a kneeling position, feeling lightheaded from his immense bloodloss. How he had survived till now, was a miracle. He was breathing shallowly, emitting a gurgling sound with every breath.  
*Lólindir, Galdor, Thaurbal, Culorë, Enedechôr, Alnarion, Saeros, Aegnor, Lissesúl, Ralogas, Bredonan, Foras, Daseth, Nevmacil, Celebril... They're all dead. Dead because of me, my self-confidence. I should have sensed the danger!!!* He moaned, letting out a bitter sob. He should have never been a leader himself, he was only the youngest son of King Thrandúil, a warrior, never meant for a crown. He had failed them all.  
  
What had they been? This creatures all in black, with their white hair and their white, lifeless eyes. Foes unable to be slain... It rang a bell in his head, a memory of long forgotten times. He cursed. He should have been more attentive to his classes instead of devising ways to escape the droning of his teachers. Bored stiff, everything had served as a distraction, from flying butterflies to cirping birds and saucy squirrels... Squirrels! Images flashed through his head.  
  
"Shape-shifters, the Cant-Ulûn, were the most deadly creatures we fought against in the Great War. Capable to turn into nearly everything they desired Sauron employed them mainly as spies and in order to divide the allies by creating distrust among them. They did not only change their shape at will, but posessed the strenght and the quick reflexes of the Elves at well. They were terrible enemies, deadly in battle; most of the losses of our people were caused by them. They could only be slain by being beheaded, nothing else could cause them permanent injury. Their healing abilities surpassed ours, to the extent that they could replace whole parts of the body. However, they had one weakness, by looking into our eyes the were forced to reveal themselves. That and the inability to take on the shape of the Firstborn made us their main target. The poured all their vileness and strenght on destroying us.... Legolas Thranduilion, stop playing with that squirrel! Can't you pay attention just for once! Wait till I tell your father!.."  
  
*Shape-shifters in Ithilien! I've to warn my people... They won't stop till all the Elves of Eryn Lasgalen are destroyed!* He looked around him, trying to find out his current location. From what the trees told him he was a week from Eryn Feredron, but only four days from Minas Ithil, Faramir's city. *I won't make it another day in my condition. But maybe if I get close to the borders of Faramir's realm I'll be found by a border patrol. If Faramir learns of my death he will send troops to Eryn Ferdron for sure! And he will send word to Aragorn, he will also dispatch troops to help us... I've to get close to the border... Aragorn! Gimli! Eldarion! They were on the way! I hope they weren't attacked, too. Sweet Eru!* with these thoughts tormenting him Legolas steeled himself against the onslaught of the agony that held a tight grip on his body as he stood up. Staggering and stumbling he dragged himself onwards, fighting to remain in the realm of consciousness.  
  
"I've to warn my people... They've to know.. Eryn Feredron... My people are in danger... Aragorn, Gimli, Eldarion...They're in danger... I've to get to Faramir... Faramir... Help us..."  
  
**********  
A few hours after they had left the terrible site life started to return to the forest. In a way it worsened everything, for as much as everybody greeted the sounds of life, the men started to jump at every shadow, each rustling in the bushes, often firing their arrows at harmless animals going about their business, very startled to find themselves under attack. It was nerv-shattering, and soon all the men were thoroughly exhausted by the emotional stress.   
  
Just before sunset they encountered three Elven horses, one of them Arod, Legolas' mount. The proud and wilfull animal, dubbed the 'little demon' by Gimli, neighed softly and bowed his head guiltily, as if in shame for having deserted his master. He wouldn't come near until Gimli himself led Arod to his own horse and bound the reigns together. The other horses just contented themselves by trotting behind the company, head bowed in grief and in shame.  
  
Aragorn had insisted to ride through the night, intent in reaching the safety of the colony as soon as possible.   
  
Gimli found himself patting Arod absentmindedly as he observed the company. In front of him rode Aragorn with his bundle safely in his arms, face haggard and grey, his shoulders slumped. Lines of exhaustion marred his handsome face, he looked ready to drop fom his horse. His eyes red from the unshed tears sparkled defiantly, he would see his friend and his company safely to Eryn Feredron, come what may.   
Next to him rode Eldarion, sitting straight in his saddle, stony-faced if it were not for his eyes. They were burning with hatred, so intense that Gimli feared that the trees might catch fire any minute. But his look was lost, though, focused on far away memories. Gimli sighed *I hope he won't be consumed by his hatred. But how can we help him if the only thing I want to do is to kill those beasts, if it is the last thing I do!*  
Recalling it made his insides churn with wrath and his heart bleed, and he lost himself devising numerous ways to revenge his friend, each one more painful than the other.   
  
He was so absorbed with his thoughts that he gave a start as an Elf materialised in front of them as if from the air. His hand went to the hilt of his axe automatically, only stopping as the Elf bowed low and raised his arm to touch his heart and his forehad in the elvish way of greeting.  
  
"King Elessar."  
  
Gimli knew this Elf, it was Neviâth, one of Legolas' captains. A tall, dark-haired elf from Imladris. His usually severe-looking face was complertely blank, there was no visible emotion at all. He looked as aloof and reserved as the tales told about. But Gimli knew better. Having been around Elves for about twenty years now, he knew that the eyes of an elf where the windows to their hearts. If you knew for what to look you could see the soul of an elf mirrored in them, and Gimli could read their emotions like an open book. Still, it never ceased to amaze him how they could appear so serene, composed and reserved, as if there was no human emotion to touch them. Because the Elves were quite the opposite, they felt everything more intensely than any other creature, even joy, bordering to a bittersweet agony. That was the reason why the Elves left Middle Earth, they couldn't bear the changes the humans brought upon it, for better or for worse.   
  
Neviâth's eyes expressed a heart-breaking pain, but nothing else betrayed his feelings.  
  
"Captain." Aragorn greeted in turn, waiting for the Elf to continue.  
  
"Your men passed us a few hours ago, they... They told us about your discovery." He swallowed and stepped closer. "Is this... is this Prince Legolas?"  
  
"Yes."   
  
This single word hung in the air, leaving a sense of heaviness. Gimli could hear soft murmurs and some gasps, indicating that there were several other Elves in the trees. Why they had chosen to remain hidden he ignored.  
  
"I want to see him." Neviâth touched the blanket which covered Legolas' body.  
  
Aragorn held up his hand to stop him. "I don't think it wise. He's not in a condition..." he decided not to finish the sentence as he looked into the Captain's face. At Aragorn's gesture his face had hardened, and a fiery look admonished Aragorn silently not to interfere. Defeated he bowed his head, and nodded.  
  
Neviâth drew the banner and the blanket aside, revealing the bloody pulp that remained of one of the most handsome faces of Middle Earth, for as much as Arwen had been counted the most beautiful of her kin, Legolas had been her male counterpart.  
  
He shrnak back from the sight, stumbling backwards. His Elvish composure failed him, as his face contorted in horror and disbelief.  
  
Leaves rustled, and a loud thud signaled that someone had travelled down the tree with the gravity.  
  
*Now there's the second Elf I see falling from a tree...* Gimli mused.*Must run in the family* Kicking himself mentally for such frivolous thoughts he simply stared at the fallen Elf. This one he knew very well, too, for it was Nilturiel, Legolas elder sister.  
  
Rising unsteadily she approached Aragorn slowly, lifting her hand as to caress the face of her brother, but letting it fall limply to her side.  
  
"Legolas, tithen nîn..." [little one] she whispered barely audibly. Eyes wide in disbelief she simply looked at her brother, and the up towards Aragorn. "What did you do to him?"  
  
Aragorn's blood tirned to ice. The words left a very uncomfortable silence, creating a very palpable tension among the people. He could hear bows being drawn, ready to shoot at the slightest indication of the Princess, but he could do nothing but simply stare at her, shocked.  
  
"Forgive me, Aragorn. Please forgive me!" With that she fell to her kness, burying her face in both her hands, sobs shaking her slender frame.  
  
Neviâth kneeled beside her, uttering soothing words, his arms held tightly around her. After a while the crying stopped, and she rose. Her face was now absolutely blank, her eyes shuttered. If it weren't for the silvery streaks the tears had left on her cheeks, nobody would have known of her grief. She was composed, and her voice serene and cool, now she was Princess Nilturiel from Greenwoog the Great, not Legolas' sister.  
  
"Please tell me what happened, Estel." It was not a request, but a royal command.  
  
Her gaze never wavered from his as Aragorn retold the tale about their discovery, omitting the more gruesome details at first, but then describing everything on her insistence. It was a cruel task, cruel for Aragorn and his men for having to relive that terrible hours, and cruel for the Elves for having to learn about their friends' terrible ordeal.   
  
"We were to late. Maybe, maybe if we hadn't tarried so long in the mornings, if we had sped up our journey..." Aragorns words were silenced by Nilturiel's finger on his lips.  
  
"Shh, Estel, stop it. What is cannot be undone." a sad smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "I see you still indulge in that famous game of yours, to load yourself with heaps of undeserved guilt. So far I can recall, you were very good at it, nearly as good as Legolas. I'm sorry, mellon nîn, you least of all deserved those cruel words of mine. Can you forgive me?"  
  
"There's nothing to forgive, Nilturiel, your words were spoken in pain."  
  
"Pray, tell me, have you seen Lólindir among the dead?"  
  
"Your husband was there, too? I'm sorry, I didn't recognize him. To be honest, I didn't want to recognize anybody after... We didn't linger there more than absolutely necessary."  
  
If possible, she looked even more defeated. She let her gaze wander among the company, until it fell on Gimli, and the weapons he was craddling against his chest. She approached him slowly, hesitatingly.   
Gimli glanced on the ground, fearfurl of her reaction.  
  
"These are Legolas' weapons." It was a statement, not a question. Her voice was cold, stern. Gimli flinched. He knew that not everybody approved of their friendship, and so far both had borne the prejudices gracefully, not giving a damn about it. But now,... *Damn it, I didn't do anything but being his friend! I will not be shamed!* He rose his head until his eyes met hers.  
  
"Aye, they are. It was the only means of indentification." *She's his sister,be polite and kind* He tended the weapons to her. To his surprise she clasped her hands around his.  
  
"Carry them, Elvellon. My brother would be deeply honoured if you were their bearer. Who better than his dearest friends to honour him?"   
  
To say that he was stunned was the understandment of the year. He was petrified. He had expected hard words or a cold nod at the best. Over the years Nilturiel had come to accept the friendship of her little brother with Aragorn, but it had taken all her willpower simply to tolerate the Dwarf. She had always been polite to him, the way she was polite to everybody, even to the servants. But she had never hidden her disapproval. Gimli knew that this had been the source of many quarrels between the siblings. It had not helped at all that Lólindir had befriended the Dwarf as well. Unwilling to be the cause for domestic strife one day Gimli had approached Legolas, offering him to stay out of Eryn Lasgalen, and meet him somewhere else instead. Legolas had been shocked, hurt and then very, very angry. He had threatened to shave his beard if he ever dared to attempt such thing. "If I get as much as a whiff of a suspicion that you might be avoiding me or Eryn Lasgalen I'll ride to Aglarond personally to rid you of that precious beard of yours. Seems to me that you spent all your energy in sprouting that hair on your face that your brain has suffered from severe undernourishment!" Witht that Legolas had stormed past him with a look on his face that made all the servants jump aside as if they had met the Dark Lord himself.  
This memory warmed his heart, it had clearly shown him the depth of their friendship. And now Nilturiel acknowledged him, calling him Elvellon, Elf-friend. The world had been turned upside down.  
  
Gimli smiled gratefully, and nodded his thanks. Words couldn't express his gratitude, but words weren't expected. Nilturiel sighed relievedly, and with tears blistening in her eyes she turned away as a soft neighing caught her attention. Tied next to Gimli's mount was Arod, Legolas' horse.  
"Arod?" She approached him slowly, gently patting his muzzle. The eyes of the proud and faithful horse were downcast and shameful, his head bowed, neck exposed to punishment indicated his pleading for forgiveness. How long she had been staring at the horse she did not know. "Will you bear me, Arod?" The horse whinied , prodding softly against her chest. "Thank you." Gracefully she jumped on him and reigned him close to Gimli. "Thank you very much."  
  
Gimli was not sure if it had been aimed at him or at the horse. It didn't matter.  
  
With a short nod to Aragorn she spurred him, and soon the company was on the way to Eryn Feredron again.  
  
They rode all the day, resting in the night on the insistence of Princess Nilturiel, for she had noticed the exhaustion of the men. "I won't have them drop from their horses, Estel!" had been her only comment on his and Neviâth's urging to continue. Over the days more border patrols joined them, for they had dispatched runners both to Eryn Ferdron and the others, alerting them of the danger.   
  
After the third day they approached the gates which swung slowly open, allowing them to enter the city.  
TBC...  
You see this beautiful button down here? It's a nice button. IT'S YOUR FRIEND. It needs your affection. So, please, press the button ;-) 


	4. Lindelle i Mornie

STANDARD DISCLAIMERS APPLY!  
  
CHEYSULI: Thank you again for your help!! I lost a lot of sweat on the battle scene, it's more difficult than I thought at first. As for Legolas getting to Faramir... Read on!  
  
WHITE WOLF: You know, I've just read the WRONG PATH and I find chillingly angsty! I was very busy at the moment, so I couldn't review. Please acknowledge this as an review! Can't wait for more!  
  
DARKNESS STIRS  
  
Chapter 4LINDELLE I MORNIE   
  
He stood gazing out of the window, so immersed in his thoughts he nearly jumped out of his skin as someone called his name. The voice sounded very exasperated, as if having done so for several times.   
  
"King Elessar!"  
  
Aragorn turned around, facing the very dour face of Raledh, Legolas' second advisor.  
"Are you sure you haven't found any evidence of the attackers? No bodies, no blood, no trails leaving the site?"  
  
Aragorn sighed. He was not in a mood to be bothered with such stupid questions, and anybody who knew him would have recognised the signs and run for cover.  
  
In a flash he was beside the stunned advisor, their faces mere inches apart, and slammed his fist on the table. The advisor jumped and retreated a few steps. With a visible effort he regained his composure.  
  
"No, nothing at all. How often will I have to repeat it? Which part of it don't you understand? The n or the o?" He had barely risen his voice, but its fierceness thundered on the Elf, making him cringe. "The only blood we found on the blades was Elvish, and the only trails to find were those of Legolas' company."  
  
With as much dignity as he could muster the Elf straightened himself. "That cannot be. They were Elves! We do not yield before taking a great amount of enemies with us!" he replied haughtily.  
  
"You don't say!" Aragorn sneered. His eyes were narrowed to slits, blazing. "And you truly believe that anything could have sneaked upon them, on Legolas of all people, taking them by surprise, if not by dark magic? Scaring the horses out of their wits, so that they leave their masters behind. Horses that would usually kick any creature from here to Mordor and back if they attacked their riders? Do you think that anything short of the Dark Lord himself could have accomplished such a feat? If you do, Legolas made a grave mistake by choosing you for the position as his advisor!" With every word Aragorn's voice had risen until reaching an ear-shattering volume that carried his yells throughout the palace.  
  
"What?" he snapped, turning around furiously as someone placed a calming hand on his back.  
  
"Calm down, Estel, there's no need to rip off his head, even if its only use is to protect his throat from the rain." Aragorn averted his eyes abashedly, looking at the floor.  
  
"I'm sorry Nilturiel, I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."   
  
"Well, then, let's sit down again and discuss how to proceed. Today is a dark day, and I feel danger looming for Eryn Feredron." She shuddered, clasping her arms around her, a far away look on her face.  
  
"Messengers have been dispatched to Eryn Lasgalen, Minas Tirith and Minas Ithil, my lady, to summon troops. Word should be sent to Eomer, too, and request his assistance. He will be more than willing to send his Rohirrim to our aid. Knowing him, he will lead them personally, as will Faramir." Aragorn looked into the council, meeting approving looks and nods. Even Raledh gave his approval, disgruntled as he probably felt.  
  
"And we need runners to Aglarond." Gimli cut in, adding in afterthought "And to the Lonely Mountains." At this there were some gasps and incredulous stares, but Nilturiel smiled at him fondly. "Thank you, Elvellon. We will need them." This elicited even more incredulity, for it was a rare thing indeed that an Elf would accept aid from a Dwarf willingly. Gimli looked at her, grateful for being allowed to help.  
  
"If they succeed! The problem of them being intercepted by the same evil still remains. We cannot afford to loose more warriors, and there are already two patrols overdue! That we need aid is out of question. But, how will we get it? The patrols report of an increased Orc activity at the northern border, and I cannot belief it to be a coincidence. We will be able to withstand a major attack easily, but if they join forces... " the voice of Threlan, Legolas' chief advisor trailed off, leaving an uncomfortable silence as everyone gathered was left to finish the thought by themselves.  
  
"If Eryn Feredron falls, so will Gondor." Aragorn whispered.  
  
"Eryn Feredron will not fall! Nor any realm else!" Nilturiel's jaw was set determinedly, a defiant gleaming in her eyes. "We will dispatch runners as well as carrier pigeons and falcons. That combined should be able to get the message through to our allies. They will inform one another, should the other messengers fail. Another pressing matter is the fortification of the city, since an attack is likely to occur. I agree with Treladh, the increase of Orc activity is no coincidence, for no one would dare to attack an Elf-Lord without powerful allies."  
  
They went on discussing how to proceed for hours, until deep into the night. From time to time they would fall into silence, fighting off the overwhelming grief, thinking hard what creature might have been able to perpetrate such gruesome deeds. Finally the council ended with everyone retiring to fulfil his appointed tasks.  
  
*****  
  
Gimli stood on the balcony, staring at the stars above. How many times had he stood there with Legolas, discussing, bickering and bantering, or simply sitting there, enjoying each other's silent company, gazing at the sky, much the same as he was doing at the present. Usually Legolas would be sitting on the railing, his feet dangling, humming one song or other, or both staring at the wide sky, absorbing the beauty of the night.  
  
But it was different now. The only melodies to be heard where the haunting, bittersweet tunes of the laments. The air carried the mourning voices as they were telling of their pain and despair, enhancing the beauty of the night in a heart-wrenching way. Only Elves were capable of creating something so beautiful out of the innermost pain. Gimli's heart wept. The colony had been dealt a shattering blow, and the Firstborns were walking the halls and the roads like ghosts, shock and anger emanating from them in huge waves, wrapping the air in despair. Not only sixteen immortal lives had been extinguished this day, but they had been deprived of their beloved leader as well. Their hope had perished.  
Sobs raked along the halls, and you could see many Elves standing lost and lonely, tears streaming down their usually aloof faces. A blow from which they wouldn't recover easily, if at all.   
  
As they had entered the colony earlier that day, they had been awaited by the warriors' relatives. Gimli wouldn't forget their faces in all his life, for they were burnt into his soul. As were the heart-wrenching cries as they discovered what had become of their loved ones. Many seasoned warriors had fainted, overcome at the sight of their husbands, wives,children, brothers, sisters, parents, relatives or friends. How they had managed to do them the last services, washing and dressing them, trying to assign the limbs to the corresponding bodies or trying to identify them, was a miracle itself, but they had succeeded. A now the colony was reeling in shock, desperately seeking something to hold on to, finding nothing.  
  
Gimli found himself joining them in their laments, singing softly the song of Elbereth.  
  
Elbereth Gilthoniel,  
  
"Earendil is bright tonight, Elvellon." Started out of his reverie it took him a few seconds to realise the speaker's identity. Behind him stood Nilturiel, trailed by Aragorn. Her look was lost as she gazed out into the night.  
  
Gimli blushed at being caught unaware. *A Dwarf, singing an Elven song! How preposterous!*  
But the smile that greeted him was soft and kind, not mocking.  
  
"Aye, my lady. But his light doesn't touch my heart tonight."  
  
"Sometimes it is hard even for the Eldar to find comfort in the stars, Elvellon. But you must try, you must try."  
  
Together they stood in silence, lost in thought.  
  
Aragorn was gripping so hard at the railing that Gimli feared he might break the stone in two. Guilt marred his handsome face.  
  
"If I only had not come! He wouldn't have gone on patrol, and none of this would happened!" He burst out.  
  
"Still playing the game of guilt, little one?" Despite her kind words her voice was clipped and hard, a dangerous gleaming in her eyes, not due to the moonlight.  
  
Aragorn bowed his head, giving her a rueful grin. "Old habits die hard."  
  
"Indeed. You and Legolas had a running competition on who of you was able to put more blame on himself. Every time one of you was injured the other would spent the time wallowing in guilt. You only stopped short of blaming yourself for the weather. Although, on second thought, you did even that. The time you fell ill when travelling to Mirkwood due to the rain, Legolas actually blamed himself for it!" Her eyes were blazing with anger at the memory, shacking her head furiously at such folly. "And now you claim responsibility for an attack nobody foresaw!" Suddenly she laughed, placing her hand on his shoulder. "Indeed, old habits die hard! Now I find myself scolding you again, knowing that it would be more useful to try to convince the sun to shine at night."  
  
"We gave you a hard time, didn't we?" Aragorn asked, his eyes sparkling with mirth, "Every time dragging one of us halfdead to our homes..."   
  
"You two were the death of us, of this I can assure you. Never did I meet someone so prone to danger! We had bets running whose turn it was to play the victim again."  
  
"Don't look at me, it's not my fault that your brother had danger glued to his tunic. I lived a very peaceful live till meeting him!"  
  
Nilturiel snorted. "Peaceful, you say? I remember it a little bit differently. You know that your father claims you're the cause for his grey hair? You and those two disgraces of your brothers did everything within your power to kill yourselves! Trouble had no trouble finding you at all."  
  
"Well, let's simply say that we complemented each other fully..."  
  
Nilturiel broke into laughter. "Yes, you were two halves of the same. Not once, not a single time you made it home in one piece. If you were late for three days, we knew that one of you must have broken some part of your body. Five days and you would surely have run into a band of Orcs, or wargs, or met some trolls, or spiders discovered you to be a rather tasty meal. A week and we would send out search parties. You didn't disappoint us once! Ada and Lord Elrond had an agreement to send you to the other realm after three months at most, to be able to replenish the supplies on herbs. Besides, that was the only way how for them to remain sane."   
  
"Now come, that's not true! There were several times when we arrived on time, and unscathed. Remember the time when we returned from Lothlorie... No, wait, there was that arrow... Ah, yes, when we went to retrieve... no, Legolas ate those berries... when... the hunting trip with Ro and Dan... Ugh, I got poisoned. Well, I cannot recall anything right now, but I'm sure there had to be an occasion... All right, we returned never in only one piece!"  
  
At this the small party broke into a fit of laughter, momentarily forgetting the grief by reliving better days. They where so absorbed it took sometime to discover the small form leaning against the door frame. Eldarion was looking at them, eyes wide, a grey storm raging in them, cheeks flushed with agitation.  
  
"Eldarion, ion nîn, come, join us!" Aragorn called him, smiling, wiping away a tear of laughter. He extended his hand as invitation.  
  
Eldarion recoiled as if it had been a snake offered to him. Gaping, he stood there, watching them with an ill-concealed loathing. With a snap he closed his mouth, pressing his lips tightly together. His face became a mask, blank, stony. Only his eyes betrayed his emotions, mirroring his inner turmoil. "Nay, Sire, I feel a little bit indisposed." He spat through clenched teeth."I think I will retire to my rooms, with your permission. Good night." With a stiff bow he turned at his heels and fled.  
  
Aragorn looked after his sun, dumbstricken. The words had hurt him, as had the look in those silvery grey eyes. They had been like daggers, piercing his already broken heart. Never had he imagined to be looked at with so much hatred and loathing, least of all by his son, whom he cherished more than the sun and the moon. "Eldarion!" A slender hand restrained him, as he moved to follow his son.  
  
"You must give him time, he's too young and doesn't understand." Nilturiel said to him sympathetically.  
  
"He has no right to behave like this, with such disrespect towards you!" Aragorn hissed.  
  
"I worry for him, Aragorn. I fear his hatred is consuming him!" Gimli wore a very worried expression. "And who can blame him, after having to witness such... such destruction! I'm craving to lay hands on those monsters and to rip them apart with my bare hands, myself!" A cruel lust for revenge blazed in his eyes, his lips curled to a venomous snarl.  
  
"I will talk to him, Aragorn." With a small nod she left after the infuriated heir of Gondor.  
  
******  
  
Eldarion was seething with anger. How dare they? Legolas was dead and they were laughing as if nothing had happened. Didn't they care?  
  
He paid no attention were he was heading to, so he was mildly surprised when he found himself in the middle of the palace gardens instead in front of his chamber. Apparently his feet had felt the despair of their owner, and had dragged him to one of his favourite places. Loving the outside was another trait he had inherited from his parents, for his father had been wandering the wilds for so long he could rightfully claim them as his home, and her mother was bound to nature by her Elven soul. As often as both could manage to escape the governing duties they retired to the gardens.  
  
Kicking a stone angrily he sat down on the grass. It was a chilly night, a cold breeze tugged at his tunic, leaving him shivering. Sombrely he looked up at the stars, searching for solace through their soft lights, finding none. Frustrated he started plucking the grass.  
  
*Legolas, why did you go? You promised always to be there! And now you've gone. You've lied to me, liedtome, liedtome, liedtome...*  
  
Tears threatened to overpower him as he recalled his friend, someone nearly as close to him as his father.  
  
How much he had been looking forward to his training in Eryn Feredron! Finally he was considered old enough to receive a full warrior training. Though terrified at the prospect to be separated from his parents for over a year the joy and pride had outweighed it. He had been determined to work as hard as he could and to give his best, for it was the minimum expected from him. Legolas was a kind, generous friend, humorous, noble and ferociously loyal, but he was a severe and demanding mentor, too, a fiery warrior, hardened and seasoned. Eldarion had yearned to please him, to prove himself a worthy student, well knowing that it meant getting up before sunrise and sleeping after midnight, pushing himself to his limits and beyond.  
  
And now there was nothing. Legolas was gone, leaving his heart aching, and his father was laughing!  
  
Softly rustling leaves made him jump. Warily he looked around, searching the source, spotting the intruder two paces from him.  
  
A rabbit. "Isn't it a bit late for you to be up and about, little one?" He spoke softly in order not to startle the tiny being. Crouching, he approached it slowly. "My, you're a pretty one, do you know? May I stroke you?"  
  
Something felt amiss. He sat there kneeling, about to caress its silvery fur,as icy needles prickled his skin, restraining him. A sensation of imminent danger washed over him. Eldarion scanned the area. He was completely alone, his only company the rabbit in front of him. The leaves were rustling in the wind, everything was dark, the only light the pale moon and the stars.  
Eldarion shook his head to dispel the dreadful feeling, as he noticed the rabbit's eyes.  
  
They were white, empty and piercing at the same time.  
  
*Must be the reflection of the moonlight* he thought numbly. His senses were urging him to run, to get away from the place as quick as possible, but he found himself unable to. He sat there, frozen, loosing himself in the rabbit's eyes. He felt so cold, so very cold. His eye lids were heavy, he had to struggle to keep them open. A tiredness gripped him, pulling him down into the depth of oblivion.  
  
"Eldarion." The melodious voice came from very far away. Somehow it sounded familiar, though he couldn't remember. And why should he care? He simply wanted to give in to sleep.  
  
"Eldarion? Eldarion!" Something shook him, it was rather annoying, really. Why couldn't they leave him alone? He opened his eyes reluctantly. A blond face was peering at him, concern written all over it.  
  
"Eldarion? Are you all right? Speak to me?" Slowly he awakened from his stupor, recognising the face. It was Princess Nilturiel. Immediately he stiffened and straightened himself, shrugging her hand from his shoulder.  
  
"My lady?"  
  
"Eldarion, are you all right?"  
  
"I'm fine, my lady."   
  
She didn't belief him for an instant, but recognising the stubborn set of his jaw she desisted from probing further. A small sighed escaped her. How much he remembered her of Legolas and Aragorn. Why did they have to be so stubborn?  
  
She stood up from her kneeling position and rearranged her clothes. The night was crisp and clear, and she could see Eldarion shivering. "Walk with me, Eldarion." It was not a request, but a demand, and Eldarion found himself walking next to her obediently.  
  
Both walked out of the gardens without looking back. If they had, they would have seen the tiny rabbit with the silver fur turning into a big raven, spreading its wings and flying to the sky. Its cry pierced the night.  
  
**********  
"Don't move." His arrow was aimed unwaveringly at the figure kneeling in front of him. It was a very dark night, and the torches brought little light. However, the form didn't stop moving. "Stop, I said. Identify yourself!"  
The figure stopped, but he doubted he did due to his orders, for he simply collapsed into a heap, lying sprawling on the ground. *What creature is this? Is it human? It looks more like an Orc* Indeed, the creature beneath him looked pityful, clothed in rags, filthy and dirty. He couldn't even define the colour of his hair, for it was dark with grime.  
It was moaning weakly, and he choked as he discerned the sounds uttered. He didn't understand them, but the soft lilting, melodious sounds stated the obvious.   
  
The creature was an Elf.  
  
Swiftly he lowered his bow and moved closer to kneel beside him. From the immediate closeness his appearance was even more shocking. Blood covered him from head to toe, staining his torn tunic. The eyes were half-lided and unfocused, his skin grey, the lips taking on a blueish tint. His breath came in shallow, ragged gasps, emitting a gurgling sound. Tiny bubbles of light, fresh blood at the corner of his mouth stated his grave condition, the effort of each drawn breath clearly visible.  
The Elf was in great distress, for he never ceased mumbling and moaning, shifting and writhing. The words muttered were barely audible, but he could discern Eryn Feredron and the name of his Prince, Lord Faramir, several times. The rest was drowned in cries of despair and pain.  
"Lales, go get the Captain and Rikar! Now!" The youth addressed quickly bolted in direction of the camp, fear and shock on his face.  
Taron took his water bag and tore at his sleeve, after he had watered the cloth he began to wipe away the blood from the Elf's face. He winced and tried to recoil, horrified. Taron racked his brain for the few Elvish words he knew, while he shushed him, speaking in low, comforting tones. "Im sí, mellon nîn, im sí." [I'm here, my friend, I'm here.] The Elf relaxed against him ever so slightly, drawing comfort from the sound of the Grey tongue. Taron brought his flask to the Elves crached lips, letting the water trickle slowly inside his throat.   
The Elf's skin was cold and clammy, sweat glistening on his brow. But the water seemed to have a positive effect, for the eyes cleared a little, and he focused his gaze on the soldier bending over him.  
  
"Legolas!" At the cry from his captain Taron spun around. He saw him close the distance between them in a blink. He knelt down, taking the Elf in his arms, carefully, not wanting to worsen his injuries.  
"Oh Elbereth, what happened to you, my friend? Who did this to you?"  
  
Legolas became aware of his surroundings as a cool, soothing liquid glided down his throat. It was dark, apparently night. Someone was bending over him, speaking soothingly. His vision was blurred, but he felt safe. He heard his name called from a distance, and suddenly someone tool him inn his arms, brushing accidentally against his wounded side. He moaned slowly.   
"Oh Elbereth, what happened to you, my friend? Who did this to you?" Legolas focused on the speaker, the sound of his voice ringing familiarly.   
  
"Bo... Boromir?"  
  
"Ay, im sí."  
  
"Boromir... Eryn Feredron... Aragorn... the Cant-Ulûn... they attacked us. They're dead, all dead! Need... help! Help us!"  
  
Boromir, Faramir's eldest son watched in horror as the Elf collapsed in his arms into a coughing fit, spitting blood. Legolas struggled for air, but it seemed in vain. The colour drained from his already pale face, taking on a blueish tinge. He grasped Boromir's tunic desperately as he fought to breathe, but slowly the strength left him. He could hear the blood roaring in his ears, and blackness engulfed him.  
He went completely limp, ceasing his struggle. His chest stopped rising, as did the gurgling sound. The silvery grey eyes glazed over before closing slowly .  
  
"NOOOOOOOOOOO!"  
TBC...  
  
Yeah me, my first real cliffie! Did you like it or did you not? Any comments, suggestions or critics? I'm craving for your reviews!!! I'm living for them, each single one bringing light into my dark existence!  
  
Well, see you soon!  
  
Plz rrrrrrrrrr! 


	5. Rain

Disclaimer: It's simply no use. Legolas.. I wish I'd. *chokes back a sob* Not even Gimli or Aragorn. And my name doesn't start with T and end with n either. buaaaaah  
  
Here I go again!!! Boy, how much I detest Physical Chemistry!!! Protocols, experiment data evaluation. 20 sheets weekly. I mean, after sitting for eight hours at your notebook every day you simply end up staring at the keyboard, not being able to recognize the keys. And your head! Your head is spinning with formulas and numbers, and every odd moment or two you simply start grinning and laughing stupidly. mwahahaha.  
  
You know, physical chemistry is a little bit hazardous for our friends' health, for the handling of data about boiling temperatures and pressures gives you strange inspirations.mwahahah  
  
Well, I think I've ranted enough for now. I just wanted to apologize for not updating earlier.  
  
WHITE WOLF: THANK YOU!*beams and bows* As for finishing off our  
favourite little Elf. We'll see. You know, I simply LOVE rabbit  
stew, so I can't wait for that bunny of yours. *licks her lips*  
  
CHEYSULI: THANKS AGAIN VERY MUCH! I didn't have time to  
correct my former mistakes, but as soon as I find myself with  
time at my hands again I'll revise the former chapters!  
  
FAER: Thank you very much for the help, it is greatly  
appreciated!!! You know, you and I share the same belief: LET'EM  
SUFFER!!! And they will, boy, they will. I've not finished with  
them yet. *insane glint in her eyes*  
  
LEGOLASLUVER: Your Love? Your Love? *glares daggers at her*  
He's mine, mine, mine.. *cackles evilly, only to finish  
abruptly, shaking with sobs when realizing the truth.* Oh well,  
looks like I've got to share'im with many people. THANK YOU! ;-)  
  
LADY LENNA: Legolas forever. or not forever.*;-)* I mean the  
poor guy has been beaten, stabbed, swept down a water fall.  
Well, he's an Elf, he will heal. or maybe not? *author ducks  
several blunt objects aimed at her head* LOL!  
  
ASHA: You're really sweet, thank you! Read on and see!  
  
DARKNESS STIRS  
  
Nilbrethiliel  
  
Chapter 5: RAIN (A/N: I know, not the most ingenious title *sigh*)  
  
A cold wind tugged at his tunic, chilling him to the bones. It fitted his mood, for inside him it was just as cold and dark. He welcomed the cold, it numbed his pain, dulled his senses. He didn't feel the stinging in his eyes, the biting frost, the stiff fingers. He simply stood there, staring on the ground, seeing nothing.  
  
Nilturiel sighed softly as she regarded Eldarion standing beside her. She had spoken to him for several times, but he had proven unresponsive. Although she had been able to placate his wrath she had failed utterly to quell the hatred that possessed his heart. Unwilling to bear the soothing and explanations he had withdrawn from the others, keeping to himself, restrained, aloof, cold. He didn't want to be comforted, on the contrary, he resented it thoroughly, punishing those who dared with cold stares and scathing remarks. He was so hurt that he had to lash out to forget the burning agony he felt within, feeling strangely comforted to see the pain and the hurt in the others. Aragorn had patiently endured his son's behaviour, never retaliating and never relenting in trying to reach his grieving son. But the days and the horrors had taken their toll on him, for although he retained his youngish features, his eyes betrayed every single year of his age.  
  
In the dark sky the clouds were heavy with rain, ready to unload their burden on the gathered crowd beneath them. All the Elves of Ithilien stood in the clearing around the great pyre in the middle. Slowly a small procession of warriors entered the clearing, carrying the bodies of their fallen comrades on their shoulders. A single flute started to play, its haunting tune wrapping the scene in an aura of desolation. Solemnly the bearers stepped forward, depositing their burdens on the wood. One by one the dead Elves were laid on the pyre and then covered by petals and leaves.  
  
*****  
  
The cold wind wiped through his clothes, slapping him in the face, biting in his eyes. He was riding hard, bent forward so much to evade the wind and the numerous branches tearing at him, trying to bring him down that he was nearly lying on the neck of his horse. His fingers were numb due to his fierce grip on the mane, clinging to it as if his life depended on it, which it certainly did, although at the moment to him his life was the least important thing. His whole concentration was focused on remaining mounted he was almost able to ignore the throbbing pain in his back, and to forget that a black arrow was protruding from between his shoulder blades. Blood was flowing freely from his wound, soaking his tunic, trailing down his back. He had to resist just for a little longer, only a bit more.  
  
"Noro lim, mellon nîn, noro lim!" he whispered, his voice barely discernible over the howling wind. [Ride quickly, my friend, ride quickly]  
  
It started to rain.  
  
*****  
  
The sky was crying, mourning the passing of the sixteen Firstborns robbed of their immortality. The rain drops trickled softly on the faces of the Elves, quietly mingling with their salty tears.  
  
All of them were dressed in dark green, wearing black ribbons on the sleeves, their hair unbraided.  
  
Nilturiel brushed away some strands of her silver hair now plastered on her face by the rain. They were getting soaking wet, but neither the rain nor the icy wind deterred the mourners, they stood there, rooted, faces grim and determined. Sombrely she stepped forward, lifting a torch in her hands.  
  
"Sílo, caled en gûrth!" [Shine, light of death!] Suddenly the torch was lit by an unearthly glowing fire, the blue flame dancing in the wind.  
  
Being immortal didn't mean to be unable to die, and although most Elves seldom got in touch with death Elvish funeral rites were the most sacred ones. Having lived under the shadows of Dol Goldur for millennia the Mirkwood Elves were the most experienced in them, having been forced to witness them far too often.  
  
Because an Elvish funeral was a very rare occasion it was the duty of the royalty to perform the rites. Only they had the power to call the caled-en- gûrth, the holy fire.  
  
Nilturiel walked to one edge of the pyre and bowed low in front of it.  
  
"Calad mathatha cen an Mandos" [may the light guide you to Mandos] With that she lowered the torch. As soon as the blue flame touched the wood a sizzling sound was heard, and a white light immersed the whole clearing, blinding everybody momentarily. Small, blue flames danced on the wood, jumping from a log to another. The smell of burning wood and flowers filled the air.  
  
******  
  
His vision was blurring, the loss of blood making him feel dizzy and light- headed. He could feel his hold on consciousness slacken, and despair seized his heart. He could not fail! He was not allowed to fail or everything would be lost! Every step of his horse sent a jolt of agony through his body, bringing him closer to the sweet embrace of oblivion. His will fought against the tender caress ferociously, stubbornly refusing to give in. But it was getting harder and harder.  
  
Only a bit longer, just a little bit  
  
*****  
  
Nilturiel walked to the next corner of the pyre, and bowing she lit the wood again.  
  
"Caled tulgatha cen ned lind lîn!" [May the light comfort you on your journey]  
  
The flames licked at the branches and rose high into the sky. The faint odour of athelas scented the air as the flames reached the bodies, wrapping them in their feral light.  
  
A single tear rolled down her cheek, but it went unnoticed. She felt how her heart was being ripped from her body with every cracking of the burning sticks, and how an immense coldness filled the gaping hole her heart was leaving.  
  
She had witnessed too much funerals in her five thousand years of life, every time feeling as if her life was being choked out of her. She could remember how she stood there, holding Legolas in her arms on the funeral of their mother. He had been barely a toddler at that time and had not been able to grasp the meaning of death as their beloved naneth was delivered to the fire.  
  
And now she stood here, bringing the fire to her baby brother and her beloved husband and wasn't able to grasp the bitter reality either. She prayed silently to the Valar to awake her from this nightmare, to deliver her from the pain. She wanted to ruffle the lovely blond hair again, wanted to feel the sweet embrace and the fiery kisses of Lólindir. Her breath hitched as she felt the heat of the flames on her pale skin and the crackling sound of fire increased. This was no dream. This was reality.  
  
*****  
  
He was getting nearer, and for that he thanked the Valar. Soon he would be within hearing range, and then, finally, he would be able to rest. The rain had turned into a full-blown tempest, thunder growled threatingly and with a loud crack a lightening illuminated the purple sky.  
  
The horse beneath him was faltering as they tore through the bushes; it had been pushed too hard, too recklessly.  
  
"No, no, ride on, ride on! We must reach Eryn Feredron, otherwise they will die! Please, my friend, hold on!"  
  
Sensing the despair in its master's voice the being neighed softly, vowing to ride itself to death in order to comply.  
  
*****  
  
After she had lit all the four corners of the pyre with the torch Nilturiel raised her hands to the sky and started to chant. Soon the rest of the Elves fell in, answering each of her chants with a counter chant, until their united voices grew in a crescendo that blocked out any other sound. The Elves started to glow intensely until quenching the light of the blue flames with their own.  
  
Gimli shuddered. Only now he was beginning to grasp the essence of the Eldar, they were the firstborn, the children of Illuvitar, magical beings from a different world, ancient and wise. He truly felt honoured and humbled to be called Elvellon, elf-friend.  
  
The flames seemed to dance to the rhythm of the chants, filling the clearing with its ethereal beauty and its comforting warmth. Slowly they started to recede as there was less and less fodder to be devoured, till dying down crackling and spitting. The wind swept over the ashes, elevating them high in the air, as if trying to guide them towards the sky, towards home.  
  
"Namarie. Namarie." [Farewell, farewell]  
  
*****  
  
He was there, he could feel it. The trees were crying at him, telling him to urge on, that he was already within the city's boundaries. He could smell smoke and the faint scent of burning athelas, a combination both pleasant and dreadful, for he recognised its meaning. A funeral was held. Fear gripped his heart. With shaking hands he reached towards his belt and the bundle attached to it. Stiff, unfeeling fingers tried to loose the strips, and after a few awkward moments he finally succeeded in unwrapping it. It was a beautifully carved horn, not unlike the horns the Gondorian soldiers used. Actually, it had been Lord Legolas' idea to imitate them, for he had experienced their usefulness himself. During the first years of the founding of the colony they had already proven vital, having warned and therefore saved the Elves from many attacks and Orc raids. Now these horns were part of the gear of the warriors of Ithilien, and although it had been a long time since their sound had been heard, everybody knew their worth and relied on them.  
  
With a shuddering breath he brought it to his mouth and blew it as hard as he could, which was rather poorly in his current condition.  
  
Uuuuuun, uuuuuun, uuuuuun. Uuuuuun, uuuuuun, uuuuuun. Uuuuuun, uuuuuun,uuuuuun.  
  
*****  
  
The flames had died down, leaving nothing but a black charred spot on the forest floor. The rain was falling heavily, weighing down the Elves.  
  
Nilturiel was trembling slightly. She felt so cold, so utterly lost and alone. But she was now the Lady of Eryn Feredron, and for her people's sake she had to show strength and resolve. Now it was not the time for weakness, there was still so much to do.  
  
The two chief advisors Threlan and Raledh and Eryn Feredron's chief captain Neviâth stepped forward and knelt down in front of her, hitting their chest with their right fist. Nilturiel nodded slightly, waving them to continue.  
  
Threlan stood up and declared gravely, his deep, full voice carrying all over the clearing:  
  
"The King is dead. Hail to the Queen! Ai Rîs Nilturiel!" [Hail queen Nilturiel]  
  
"Ai Rîs Nilturiel!"  
  
The whole clearing sank to their knees as one body, their voices rung in one shout.  
  
Uuuuuun, uuuuuun, uuuuun. Howling wind carried the faint sound. Everybody froze, unable to believe what was happening, unwilling to believe their ears.  
  
Uuuuuun, uuuuuun, uuuuuun. Uuuuuun, uuuuuun,uuuuuun.  
  
The meaning was unmistakable, having been heard far too often.  
  
Nilturiel clenched her fists until her knuckles were white, her lips pressed to a thin line, eyes sparkling with hatred.  
  
*Not even now! Not even now they give us a respite!*  
  
"Warriors of Eryn Feredron, ready yourselves!" Her voice had a steely edge, matching her grim expression.  
  
"We're under attack!"  
  
TBC..  
  
Well, no Legolas in this chappie. *eyes dart around frantically* And looks as if I've got addicted to cliffhangers.*takes several steps backward when seeing angry throngs of readers waving all sort of weapons at her* Uhm guys? Guys! If you kill me I won't be able to continue. I don't know if they have internet in Mandos. *ducks a knife, turns around and flees* :-D  
  
You see this nice little button down here? It makes wonderful things!! Just press the button and see!!!  
  
Please rate!!! Your reviews get me going and force me back on my desk in order to continue. Again, ideas and corrections will be appreciated very much!  
  
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RRRRRRRRRRRR! :-D 


	6. Awakenings

DISCLAIMER: I own everything! They're all mine! MINE! Uh oh. Guys? What are you doing with that strange white jacket? Ahhh, sorry, but white doesn't suit me at all. No. I'm not going to wear this. No! Leave me be! Help! Legolas!!! L: why should I help you? Look what you've done to me! No, I don't think so. It's payback time! *smirks*  
  
Ah well, felt the urge to babble on the disclaimer. ;o)  
  
White Wolf: See? Lots of Legolas in this chapter. There's really no need to send more evil bunnies after me, I think I have enough rabid plot bunnies of the size of mini-Balrogs haunting me.*sigh* Off with you! Will you please let go of my leg, NOW! Back into your cage- Shush,shush. By the way, what about an update in the "Wrong Path"? Maybe it should be me sending some shape-shifters after you. Yes, I definitely like the idea.  
  
SHANDRIAL: WOW!! It's really great to be reviewed by such a talented writer like you.. *points at Shandrial* Lookie, one of the current top authors actually reviewed my story. Every single chapter! *gloats* Ahhh.*pattes herself on the back* Well, what about a sequel to "The Choices We Make" And I mean real soon. Say, right now? With 'ro and 'dan and Glor, Thrandy and Elrond struttong around, the whole staff, you know. Did I mention that you're evil? Well, you certainly are. *grins* Like me.  
  
FEAR: Well, since I'm currently studying Chemistry, or more precisely Biochemistry, I think I'm stuck with it. I certainly don't know what possessed me when I choose such cruel a subject. I think Saruman whispered some evil words to me, and from what I read in your bio, also to you. ;o) I hope you will be able to read this fic in pite of it, though.  
  
Thanks for liking the funeral scene. I really had a hard time writing it, since how should I describe a ceremony which actually sholdn't be happening at all.  
  
Enough babbling, here comes the story.  
  
Chapter 6 AWAKENINGS  
  
Trapped. Trapped in a sea of pain and darkness. Frantically he started to thrash, trying to break away from the strong maelstrom which threatened to swipe him away, further into the depth, the blackness he easily recognized as death. Each breath proved harder and harder, he could feel him slowly slipping away, drowning in despair.  
  
"Legolas. las.las." A faint voice echoed hollowly. A loud shattering yanked him out of the mire. He gasped out, greedily filling each inch of his lung with the precious good. He didn't know what the sounds meant, nor did he know their source, but they were strangely comforting. Something seemed to pull at him, and he found himself taking hesitant steps towards the source.  
  
"Legolas! Lasto bêth nîn." [Hear my voice]  
  
There again! He looked around, trying to discern anything among the shadows, anything to show him the way. Although he saw nothing he felt an intense urge to keep on moving, moving towards the voice.  
  
".mellon nîn.Tolo. Legolas. Lasto. nîn. Legolas. Legolas." [my friend. come. hear..]  
  
The voice grew stronger and more persistent with every step, as did the pain. Every movement sent an excruciating agony through him, draining his strength.  
  
"Legolas. Legolas.las. las."  
  
Legolas. Who was that? Somehow the name sounded familiar to him, and something deep inside him stirred. He felt so exhausted, so utterly tired, the journey starting to take its toll on him. A current tugged at him viciously, trying to pull him back. *And why not? At least the pain was bearable back there. Why should I continue? Maybe it would be just better to relax and to rest. Yes, rest.*  
  
Yet it proved impossible. Maybe his warrior instincts kicked in, forbidding him to give up and cease struggling, or maybe it was the stubbornness the House of Oropher was notorious for which compelled him to fight. Maybe both, but he found himself dragging onwards, his strides lengthening, his shoulders straightening.  
  
"Legolas!"  
  
Legolas. His name! Now he remembered. It was him the voice was calling. Whatever the reason, he simply knew he had to comply and follow.  
  
A faint glow pierced the darkness, slowly growing bigger. Legolas stared dazedly at the swirling spot, paralyzed. Suddenly he found himself swept off his feet and sucked into the light.  
  
"He's awake!"  
  
"Thank the Valar!"  
  
"Welcome back, mellon nîn!"  
  
Brightness assaulted his senses, blinding him. The voice turned into many, roaring and ringing in his ears. He moaned.  
  
Something delightingly cool brushed over his face, soothing him. After a while his spinning world calmed down, allowing his strained senses to analyze the various signals of his surroundings.  
  
A soft touch caressed his face, something warm squeezed his hand. A faint whisper reached his ears; he could make out single words, though he couldn't grasp their meaning. It felt good though. Slowly he pried one eye open, and after the pain had receded into a dull throbbing in the back of his head he dared to open the other one. Amidst the white light two large dark spots hovered above him. Panic seized him, and he tried to recoil but found it very hard to move a single muscle. Soothing sounds were made by the spots, something pressed him down, effectively pinning him down.  
  
"Legolas?" Faramir frowned. Finally they had succeeded to bring Legolas back to consciousness, but his gaze was unfocused and held no recognition, only pain and fear. "Mellon nîn, you're safe now. You're here, in Minas Ithil. You're with us, with Eowyn, Boromir and me."  
  
At least he was awake, they had feared never to see their friend again. It had been a very rough couple of days in which they had never dared to leave his side. Faramir could still feel the shock and anger he had felt when he had seen his friend's bloodied and broken body in his son's arms. That he had survived the breakneck ride through Ithilien's forest had been a miracle itself, and they had despaired for his life; several times he had stopped breathing, his heart beating, and when everything had seemed lost, something had returned him to them. The Elf was far from healed, but although his condition was still grave Faramir could feel the icy hold of despair on him slacken, making room for hope. Now that he had made it that far Legolas would never give in. He was far too hard-headed to do so.  
  
Something cool was pressed against his lips, and before he knew what he was doing he was taking tiny sips, swallowing softly the cool liquid.  
  
"Legolas? Mellon nîn, you're safe now. You're here, in Minas Ithil. You're with us, with Eowyn, Boromir and me." His gaze flicked up, seeking the source. The dark spot looked vaguely familiar. Eowyn, Boromir. who were they? Why should he feel safe with them? Eowyn. Eowyn! Faramir! A weak smile spread on his face. He remembered!  
  
"Faramir." He mouthed, unable to produce a sound apart from faint moans. "Faramir." So relieved he was to find out he was with his friend and partner ruler he allowed the blackness to claim him, knowing for once it was safe to.  
  
"Faramir." A huge grin split his face in two as he discerned the barely breathed word. He recognized him. Now all would be well. So he was not utterly surprised as he saw the lids of the Elf-lord closing again, slipping into oblivion for now. He knew for certain that Legolas would awake again.  
  
*****  
  
"How is he?"  
  
"Better, much better. His fever has broken, he's breathing more freely now, and it seems he's in less pain."  
  
*Less pain. Ay, Faramir, I think we should discuss your definition of pain, for your and my opinion seem to diverge greatly. Not much pain.* Legolas groaned mentally as a new jolt of fire tore through his body, as it did with every breath he took. *Less pain indeed!* he snorted. Slowly he tried to open his eyes; it was still the same unamusing experience it had been the past attempts. Angrily he tried to shake his head, an action which proved fruitless and extremely stupid, as tidal waves of nausea washed over him, leaving him wishing to be everywhere but in this mad roller-coaster which bore the name of bed.  
  
"I think he's not unconscious anymore, but finally sleeping."  
  
"That's fine. He will need as much rest as possible to heal properly. Let's leave in order not to disturb him."  
  
Legolas cleared his throat. "Well, I think it's already too late for that, my lady." His voice was raspy and hoarse and sounded incredibly weak.  
  
"Legolas! You're awake!" With a joyful cry which made his ears ring two persons came rushing to his side. He winced.  
  
"Unfortunately."  
  
"Well, well, well, look who has finally decided to grace us with his presence. Enough beauty sleep for now, my lord?" Faramir's deep baritone rumbled then he beamed "Welcome back to the living."  
  
Legolas glared at him. His vision was still blurry, but he could see the fine lines of worry around Faramir's eyes, and although mirth filled his voice a hint of underlying worry was still detectable.  
  
"I think you mistake us. I'm definitely not the one in need for a beauty sleep. You're not either, for even if you slept for a century I doubt there would be any change in that thing with ears you call your face. I'm afraid, but it's a completely hopeless endeavour."  
  
A silvery laugh floated through the air, and Eowyn gently ruffled his hair. "Still as saucy and arrogant as ever. It's good to have you back, mellon nîn."  
  
Legolas smiled softly. It definitely felt good to be back.  
  
"How do you feel?"  
  
Pondering the question for a few seconds Legolas settled for the truth, if a somewhat slim version of it, omitting some minor details like finding it extremely difficult to breathe and wanting to cry out in agony whenever he as much as blinked.  
  
"Like I have been cut in half and swept down a waterfall."  
  
"Is that what happened to you?" Faramir asked softly. From what he had garnered from his son, Legolas had mumbled something about an attack, Eryn Feredron and cant-ûlun, whatever this meant.  
  
"More or less." Legolas waved it off tiredly. Suddenly the memories slammed into him, causing him to suck in his breath sharply. The shape-shifters!!! Lólindir, Galdor, his men. Eryn Feredron. He would bet his life on it that that was the next target intended.  
  
Desperately he grabbed Faramir's sleeve, and with a strength which surprised both he pulled him down, closer to him.  
  
"Faramir! Eryn Feredron is in danger! Please," he pleaded, "please, you have to send your soldiers to our aid. Saes!" [please] With a visible effort Legolas composed himself again. "As the Lord of Eryn Feredron I formally request your military support, Prince Faramir."  
  
Faramir disentangled himself gently from Legolas' hard grip. "As your friend, your ally and your brother in arms I will more than pleased to personally kick any enemy of yours back to the hole where it has crept from."  
  
Legolas nodded gratefully and then launched into the tale.  
  
*****  
  
"It's a lone rider!"  
  
"An Elf!"  
  
The sentries on the wall stood ready, arrows notched, patiently waiting for orders.  
  
Nilturiel felt her blood rushing, pounding so loud in her ears she was barely able to understand the shouts of her warriors. Aragorn and Gimli stood beside her, watching alertly. They were serene and composed, only Aragorn's intense stare and Gimli's tight hold on the handle of his axe betrayed their apprehension. They're mere presence was comforting, and although she was a warrioress in her own right, having fought more battles than she cared to remember, she felt afraid. Truly, Mirkwood had always lived under the shadow of Dol Guldur and subsequently under the imminent threat of attacks and destruction, but there had been always her father or her eldest brother to assume the full responsibility. She had been a Captain of the Mirkwood army, like most of her siblings, Legolas included, being among the highest ranking officers and therefore greatly used to issue spontaneous orders adapting to the changing conditions. But. not until know she had realized what it felt to be burdened with the fate of your people, not only playing a mere part to protect them. Her orders were paramount and decisive; any outcome of a battle would be solely her responsibility. Only know she started to comprehend what it meant to be a leader of people, and she felt incredibly awed by her father, Aragorn and even her baby brother Legolas, how they had managed to convey so much faith and confidence in such a nonchalant manner was beyond her.  
  
To the outside spectator she looked completely unruffled and cool as ice, but beneath the surface she could feel her emotions in a raging turmoil. Doubt and fear filled her heart.  
  
Aragorn surveyed the elleth [Elf-maid] next to him from the corner of his eye, he could sense her inner battle. A surge of sympathy rushed over him, he knew what she was going through only to well from his own experience. Every day he stood at the mirror, looking at his own reflection and wondering what he had done to deserve to be king, doubting his worth and his aptitude. It was always a struggle to come to terms with himself and the fact that he was king and therefore leader of a nation, something he wasn't able to change by now, nor, if he was completely honest, something he wanted to change. The only thing he could do was do his best and more to be a worthy servant of his people.  
  
And Nilturiel, Princess Nilturiel and now Queen of Eryn Feredron was learning to be her people's leader the hard way, without a second of respite, without a break to draw breath. Gently he laid his hand on her shoulder, trying to convey as much strength and reassurance into this small gesture as he could muster. Nilturiel simply leaned her cheek against his hand, a gesture who spoke more than thousand words of gratitude.  
  
"It's Vorwen!"  
  
"Open the gates!" her voice rang clear and confident, not betraying anything at all.  
  
A few minutes later a horse charged in, stumbling in his attempts to stop, carried forward by its own momentum. Finally it stood there, flanks heaving, mouth foaming. Quickly a few warriors approached, taking charge of the exhausted horse and gently lifting the injured Elf from the horse back. It was Vorwen, an Elf from Lothlorien, member of the still overdue scouting party. And from the look of it, it was highly to be doubted that the rest would return. He had a nasty black arrow protruding from his back, and a large crimson stain coloured his tunic.  
  
Quickly she ran beside him.  
  
"My lady." he gasped, face twisted in pain. "Uruks. Three days from here. Huge." He coughed, spitting blood. After a few seconds he had regained enough breath to speak again. "Huge army, at least two thousand, preparing to march against us." At these words the faces of the surrounding Elves blanched. Vorwen was attacked again by a violent coughing fit which nearly left him senseless. The healers had arrived by now and were readying everything for his transport to the house of healing, when he held up a hand, signalling that his report was not over. "The rest of us are dead. There were creatures. I've never seen anything like them. Only I escaped alive, and only by fluke."  
  
"Thank you Vorwen. You did exceptionally well. You have my and Eryn Feredron's undying thanks." With a nod and small flicker of her hand she signalled the healers to take over and see after the wounded warrior.  
  
She turned around to face the stricken Elves. These were ill tidings indeed. Breathing deeply she tried to calm her nerves before addressing the rest.  
  
"Very well, you have heard. We have three days. Let's start working, for I for my part desire nothing more than to show all Orcs ever spawned that it was the most stupid thing to dare to attack the Elves of Eryn Feredron!"  
  
Loud cheers and approving shouts instilled a great pride in her. Maybe they would even survive!  
  
*****  
  
"So you see, Eryn Feredron is in great danger. And if we fall, then there won't be anything standing between them and the free people of Middle Earth." The conclusion of his report left Legolas drained and empty. It had been hard to relive what had happened, and there had been several moments the emotions threatened to overwhelm him. Only his long training as a warrior and prince helped him to keep his composure. Faramir and Eowyn had listened with utmost attention, and the grief he felt clearly mirrored in their eyes.  
  
After a few minutes of silence they used to collect themselves, Faramir cleared his throat. "As soon as you were brought to us four days ago, I issued the order to raise the army. In two days we will be ready to set off for your home."  
  
Legolas nodded. His energy was completely spent, he felt his eyes drooping, fighting against the overwhelming desire to sleep. Duty had been fulfilled now, and he knew that everything possible to prevent the disaster was being done. Slowly he started to drift back into the welcoming blackness, his thoughts loosing coherency. But he knew that a single thought would still haunt him in his dreams.  
  
*I hope it won't be too late.*  
  
TBC  
  
See? No real cliffie. Not this time anyway, but later on. Oh, there will be so many evil cliffies later on! Mwahahaah  
  
See this cute little button? I'm sure you all already know the procedure by heart now. Just press and,,, It will feel really good, really, really good, promise!  
  
So please!!!!!!! RATE!!!!!!! *pleads with puppy eyes* Rate or I will send the Cant-ulûn after you *cough* Now where did this line drop from? *shrugs*  
  
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See ya soon ;o) 


	7. Of Elflings and Shieldmaidens

DISCLAIMER: Yadda, yadda, yadda, yadda… (A/N: Don't own anything, never will)

Alright…. Sorry it took me so long to update, but the university has a firm grip on my life, and it doesn't show any signs to slacken… EEK! 

SHANDRIAL: Hey dude, here we go again… This time I'm not being as evil as I should, but big promise, someday I will out-evil you!!! Although, on second thought… That's impossible!!! There are few with such… ehm… twisted… minds like you… AND I LOVE EVERY WARPED WINDING OF YOUR BRAIN!!!

WHITE WOLF: Sorry, no happy reunion this time… And I still don't know if the reunion will be a happy one… well, absence makes the heart grow fonder, I think… We'll see *g*.

GWYN: Haven't caught up with posting on MC yet, but see: new chappie…Yeah me *pats herself proudly on her back*

FAER: Yes, poor Leggy…Mwahahahahahahahahahahaahaha…*blinks* 

TUXEDO ROSE aka KATIESTAR: *blushes* Thanx a lot for the sweet review… And sorry for the tardiness… Hope you like this new chapter, too

And to all the reviewers who reviewed on MC: THANK YOU, THANK YOU, THANK YOU!!!

Here we go!

DARKNESS STIRS

Chapter 7 OF ELFLINGS AND SHIELDMAIDENS

"Stay down!"

"No, I won't. I've got to return to my people!"

"Your people won't appreciate it if I send you back in anything but one piece. Stay still, Elf!" Eowyn pushed a struggling Elf back on his pillow.

Legolas gnarled.

"Lay still or I'll knock you senseless! Do not tempt me!"

A brief glance at her face convinced Legolas that the wisest course was to abide her wishes. She would do as promised, and enjoy it thoroughly.

"You would hit a Firstborn, my Lady?" he asked stiffly. *By the Valar, my voice is weak. I hate it…*

"A certain infuriating Elf-Lord is asking for it, don't you think? It took me a lot to patch you up, and I'd hate it to become undone. I've better things to do, only to see my time wasted. You could be a little more considerate, couldn't you? You think this is fun?"

*Well, it clearly seems you enjoy torturing me immensely. I certainly wouldn't put it past you.* Nevertheless, Legolas ceased struggling and crossed his arms instead, injured dignity impersonated.

"Firstborn… indeed... " she snorted. There were several other things muttered under her breath, too low even for his Elvish hearing. His eyes narrowed.

"Sulking does not suit you, my Prince." She smirked

"I'm not sulking!" he declared outragedly. And clamped his jaws shut. *I'm certainly sounding like an Elfling about to throw a tantrum. Sweet Eru, why do these women always bring the worst out of me? Nilturiel as well as Arwen as well as Eowyn.* he glowered.*Ahh, maybe because you know that they're right and you're not, 'Prince'?* an annoying little voice mocked him inside his head. *I won't be fussed over like an invalid!* he thought back fiercely.

While he was debating with himself, Eowyn snatched the opportunity at his momentary distraction and started to rearrange the blankets around him, straightening the pillows, tucking them neatly behind him,.

"By the Valar, woman, stop fussing!" Legolas snapped at her only to hiss in pain as her hand *accidentally* brushed his side.

Eowyn smiled. It was not a pleasant smile. Legolas fixed her with his Elven look, a look which would have reduced any lesser being to a shameful wrench. But not her. The Shieldmaiden of Rohan simply returned his stare with one of her very own. Legolas averted his eyes.*I'm pitiful indeed*

Smiling coldly she thrust a cup full of an amber liquid into his hands. "Drink this."

Legolas eyed it suspiciously, sniffed at it and frowned. "I don't think so." he stated flatly.

"Oh, but you will, Thranduilion. It's your choice how."

Her jaw was set determinedly, her eyes glistening dangerously. Patience was wearing thin.

"Faramir..." Legolas pleaded. So far the Prince of Ithilien had remained seated next to the bed, barely hiding his amusement while watching the small battle which had ensued as soon as Legolas had awoken.

Now Faramir held his hands up, shaking his head vigorously.

"Oh no, Legolas, I've got nothing to do with it. You're not my patience. You're in Eowyn's hands." 

He shuddered. And choked when he noticed Eowyn smiling at him. 

"I would drink it, if I where you. She can be very...persuasive." If possible, it got him an even sweeter smile, full of love and... Faramir didn't want to discern the other. He was in trouble, that he knew for sure.

Turning back at Legolas, her smile broadened. "Drink it. Please." Eowyn *did* have a very sweet smile. A smile which didn't reach her eyes. Two chips of blue ice were levelled at him. Legolas emptied the cup hastily, grimacing at its bitter taste. Why did the healing draughts always have to be so foul?

"Good. See, that wasn't that bad, was it?" Smiling pleasantly she patted his head. Legolas flinched. She could have been patting a dog as well.

"Rest now. As to you, my love," Faramir recoiled as if beaten by a whip, "you make sure he stays in bed. If he as much as puts a foot out or it..." gracing him with one of her sweetest smile she swept out of the room.

As the door closed behind her both sighed relievedly in unison. Legolas gave Faramir a sympathetic look, whilst Faramir shrugged apologetically.

After a few minutes Legolas eyed the door yearningly and folded back his blanket, ready to climb out of bed.

"Oh no, you won't!" 

Legolas started, looking at his friend in disbelief. Surely he would be reasonable!

"Faramir, I'm fine. You know I can't stay here any longer. I've got to return to my people." Faramir had to understand!

"You're not going anywhere, my friend. Eowyn told you to remain in bed, and I will see that you'll remain." *Why am I feeling like traitor?* "Besides, even if you were fit to wander around, which you're definitely not," he held his hand up to cut off Legolas' protests, "I'm sure you wouldn't make it down the hall."

"Pray, *mellon nîn*, tell me why?" Legolas asked scathingly.

"Because," Faramir smirked, "you've just ingested a very powerful, if slow-acting, sleeping- draught."

Legolas glared at him. "You...you've let her drug me?!" His speech was starting to become slurred, albeit still conveying enough venom and indignation to make Faramir run for cover.

Faramir sighed. Now it was his fault. Not Eowyn's, no. His. She just happened to be the one to give the draught to him and force him to drink it. Ahh, never mind. The blame was always laid on him.

Legolas sight was blurring, and a sweet darkness caressed his consciousness. He knew he had to be angry, but...why? He was too tired to remember, too tired to care.

"Sweet dreams, mellon nîn." Faramir said softly as he watched the Elf's eyes glaze over and become sightless. 

The door closed softly behind him as he left the room.

*****

Soft steps echoed through the empty hallway; it was already late, and the torches illuminated the long, winding corridor with their flickering light. Most residents of the palace had already retired, and calm had replaced the usual busy bustling. Faramir drank in the silence, relishing its soothing peace. Peace… for now. He was pretty sure it would only last as long as the effects of the sleeping draught. The aftermath of this little, if necessary assault on Legolas' persona would be very *lively*, to say the least. Faramir shuddered at the many possibilities of revenge a certain Elf-lord could be plotting against him. He had had centuries of practising and honing his skills, after all, and his ingenuity and deviousness were legendary. So absorbed he was in his thoughts he didn't notice the dark figure lurking in the shadows. Long arms shot forwards, circling around and pinning him effectively against the wall. Before he could react his cry was stifled by another mouth. Faramir smiled against the soft lips and let himself relax against his captor. After too short a time they broke apart, panting from the lack of oxygen.

"A ranger caught unawares, shame on you, my lord." 

"But who said I didn't want to be caught, my lady?" Faramir leaned forward, planting a firm kiss on Eowyns forehead, drawing her closer.

"He sleeps, I presume…"

"Ay, Eowyn, would I have left his side otherwise…"  
  


"No, you wouldn't have dared!" Her lips curled in a mock sneer as she fixed him with one of her stares. "You know, you'll be in so much trouble tomorrow."

"Well, then it is only too well that I leave with the army tomorrow." He felt her stiffen, then slowly relaxing again.

"I think we will have to bind and gag him." She sighed. "Or, even better, lock him away in the dungeons."

"He won't be pleased… I wonder what it takes to have the wrath of the Elves descend on you."

Pondering for a few minutes they stood there, in a tight embrace, trying to shake off the shadows looming on the horizon. Faramir knew that the battle would be a bloody one, but he simply hoped they would arrive in time to be of help. 

"We nearly lost him… It was by the Lady's grace that Rikar chose this very night to accompany Boromir and his men to collect some healing herbs…"

Faramir nodded. "But now he's here, safe and well. He'll be up and about in no time."

"Yes, and that's what concerns me most. He's a difficult patient at the best of times, and now it will be impossible to restrain him."

"Ah, well, then you will have to devise something clever, my love."

Eowyn snuggled closer against him. "You will be gone for a long time…"

"Then, my lady, let's seize the day… or the night." He purred, his breath tickling her ears.

"Who needs sleep?" And dragging him along they hurried down the corridor.

*****

Loud chirping interrupted his dreams. These annoying little birds. So busy and loud at these stage of the day. Legoals graoned. His mind was a little bit hazy, but nevertheless he felt an instant urge to harm somebody. He didn't know why, but the thought of his hands tightening around someone's throat was a very comforting one. Well, maybe he should settle in shooting the chirping beasts outside at first.

He opened his eyes and took in the faint light which entered across the open balcony. It was shortly before dawn. So Eowyn's draught had not lasted long enough. Smirking he unfolded the blankets and swung his feet out of the bed. The movement had been too rash, a wave of light-headedness made him grasp the post and steady himself. After the world had calmed down he slowly but determinedly pulled himself up. When he was sure to be able to stand on his own he strode towards the balcony, letting the cool air caress his skin and dispel the last remnants of the drug. Although it was still before dawn, he could hear and see the soldiers below him moving busily around.

He frowned. So Faramir wanted to leave without him! 

Never. 

With grim determination he returned to his chamber and proceeded to wash himself. Opening his wardrobe he checked for suitable clothing. This was his chamber in Minas Ithil, and therefore pertaining lots of clothes and other personal items. Everybody of the fellowship and close friends owned a room in the respective homes of their friends, and now more than ever Legolas greeted this proof of friendship.

He went over his clothes, selecting some, discarding others. After all he was to set out on campaign, so the outfit had to be suitable. Usually he hated to fuss over clothes, and he couldn't care less what he was wearing, but on this occasion he had not only to go to war, but he had to go to war as the Elf-Lord, the Prince, the leader and King he was. He had never claimed this title, feeling it belonged only to the great and wise among his people, but under Elvish law he was that and nothing less.

After a few minutes he settled on an outfit wholly made of leather. Dark green leather leggings, black suede boots reaching up to his knees and a black tunic, his coat-of-arms embroidered in silver on his breast. Gently he tugged the tight leggings on, wincing when the effort made his side twinge, the slipped on his boots and buttoned his tunic. 

The image the mirror greeted him with was deeply satisfying. In front of him stood a warrior, none to be trifled with. Cold grey eyes peered at him critically, a grim smile of approval thinly on his lips.

Swiftly he started to braid his hair, not only the knots and braids of a warrior, as he usually wore them, but also the more intricate pattern of Mirkwood royalty. Whilst his hands swiftly arranged his hair he let his mind wander. Grief gripped his heart as he remembered the ones he had lost only a week before, and tears tried to well up. But he never let them. This was not the time.

Finished with braiding and satisfied with the result he walked to a cupboard, and opening the drawer he pulled out a sword. On his last visit a month ago he had damaged the hilt, and Faramir had been so gracious to offer his smiths to repair it, and Legolas had accepted it. A bitter smile played around his lips. With his bow and knives gone he at least had his sword. Gently caressing the runes on the blade he started to dance with it, the lethal dance he was famous for. Each move, thrust and retreat a smooth, elegant pattern, slowly at first, then with increasing speed, until his movements were but a graceful blur.

A thin layer of perspiration glistened on his brow, his body a single throb of pain he moved on regardless, pushing himself towards his limits and beyond, testing his strength, despising his obvious weakness.

"What in Arda are you doing!!!"

Eowyn stood rooted on the spot. She saw the shadow in front of her swishing the sword, thrusting and blocking, moving with lightning speed. At her words Legolas turned around, his face flushed, but his expression serene. His braids danced with the chilly morning breeze, and realization struck her squarely in the face. He was clothed and ready.

Fixing him with her stare she hoped to make him squirm uncomfortably as always, but it elicited not a single flicker. He brushed it off as it were nothing, and Eowyn felt it harder and harder not to avert HER eyes as his stare pierced through her, looking into her very soul. She had never felt so young and insignificant, and she realized she had never felt the full impact of an Elf-lords gaze. The Elf standing in front of her was not her friend Legolas, but the Lord and King of Eryn Feredron, millennia old, full of power and wisdom. Who was she to question his actions?

Legolas regarded the woman in front of her and smiled sadly as he read the emotions rushing over her face. He felt a little bit of regret that he had to make her uncomfortable, but it was necessary. If he didn't pour the last ounce of willpower and strength into his look, he would never get past her defenses and able to ride with Faramir. 

"I have to go." His soft statement shattered the spell on her, and she locked her eyes with his.

"No, you're still wounded." As soon as the words left her mouth she clumped it shut with a click. The eyes of her friend bore deeper, threatening the pierce her very heart.

"You know I have to. It's my people. I cannot stay here idly while others fight for their lives. Even if it cost me my life. I cannot and will not. It is your choice, my Lady, to help me or to stand in my way and face the consequences."

A sharp intake of breath was her answer. Legolas regarded her calmly, but inside him the emotions raged in a whirling turmoil, making him dizzy. He had never threatened any of his friends, only in common jest and banter, and it broke his heart, but not his resolution. Both of them knew he would never harm anybody, but if they stood between him and his people their friendship would be forfeited.

Eowyn shot him a dark look. She knew the meaning of his words, and it hurt her. But, to be honest, she knew she wouldn't react differently. And the bond between an Elf-lord and his people was of a strength and depth she couldn't even start to understand, if she tried a lifetime.

Defeatedly she nodded.

A beaming smile was her reward, and she felt her spirits lift again. He wanted to say something, but she cut him off wearily.

"You'll ride with Faramir, but I will be damned if I let you go in anything but your clothes and a sorry sword. Come with me. You will wear armour, if I have to beat you inside it! And after what you have said I will more than enjoy it. So give me a reason, and you will know what it means to face the wrath of the Shieldmaid of Rohan!" Her words were harsh, but the smile in her eyes belied their coldness.

Legolas bowed solemnly, the stretched out his arm, and they walked arm in arm out of his chamber.

*****

Faramir sighed. He was so tired! But a wicked smile tugged at his corners when he remembered why he was currently suffering from lack of sleep. It had been thoroughly worth it. He scanned his men, an army of five hundred, ready to march. He raised his arm to shout the marching order.

"Wait."

Faramir turned round, facing the source, and felt his mouth opening and closing repeatedly, trying to digest the vision. In front of him stood Legolas as he had never seen him before. Clad in dark green leggings and a dark tunic he had put on braces, a bow and quiver strapped on his shoulder, a sword on his belt, braided in a fashion he had witnesses only once before, on his crowning as the King of Eryn Feredron. Silver armour shone in the rising sun, but was quelled by the radiance of the Elf himself. His skin glowed intensely, an ethereal vision, far removed from reality, a beauty seldom to behold by mortal eyes. He could hear several gasps and cries of surprise from the surrounding soldiers, but he felt utterly spechless. *A child of Iluvitar, a firstborn… Truly one of the Eldar. *

After a few time he slowly regained his senses, looking incredulously at Eowyn. "What's the meaning of this?" He barked. She simply shrugged. "I think you should give him a horse my lord, or he will walk all the way by foot. Anything short of killing him could not prevent him from coming, so I think it might be better that way. At least there might be a slight chance to deliver him home more or less unscathed."

Faramir narrowed his eyes, but at the dejected look on Eowyn's face he knew there was nothing he could do. He nodded at on of his men who dismounted quickly, leading the horse to Legolas. In a swift, elegant motion he was seated on top of it, taking the reigns from the other's hand. With a nod he urged Faramir to proceed. 

Glaring daggers at his stubborn friend next to him, Faramir bent down, kissing his wife good-bye. They held each other tightly for some minutes, finally letting go reluctantly. 

"See that he remains alive, for I long his return to sort some things out with him!" Faramir could sense Legolas wince, and he smiled broadly. Oh, revenge could be so sweet... 

"As you command, my love" With that he saluted and turned around to his men.

"MARCH!"

TBC…

Shalalalal lalalalal… *cough, cough* Ahem… sorry about that tiny Eowyn and Faramit bit, don't know what possessed me… Lay the blame on Lisa, it's all HER fault… Yeah, right… Ahem, I promise this will be the first and only fluff scene in this fic!!! I swear!!! AFTER ALL, THIS IS AN ACTION AND ANGST FIC!!! *cough, cough*

Well, I'm fully aware that it's taken me very long to come to the action scenes, and that I have thoroughly neglected Aragorn and Gimli, but this will be redeemed from the next chapter on, then there will be lots of battle scenes, much more angst, torture and, and, and… So watch out for Chapter 8, "LIKE A PHOENIX…" Coming soon to your favourite ff.net (if God and the university allow it…)

So, please be so kind, and give a lil bit attention to this nice little button down here, it's thoroughly suffering from lack of affection… Press it!!! I'm in the basement, you're high in the sky, so drop on by… Leave a review… *cough* I'm not suffering from insanity, I'm enjoying every minute!!!

Saes, mellyn nîn, review, let me know what you think about it, what I should change, where improve…

See you soon….mwahahahaahah


	8. Like a Phoenix

DISCLAIMER: Guys… If I owned them I certainly wouldn't be here… Would have better things to do, like playing with my favourite Elf…*dirty grin*

OMG, OMG…15 reviews for a chapter!!! You guys rock!!! *huggles all reviewers* Even bigger is my guilt for taking such an incredulously long time in updating! I'M SO SORRY, PLEASE FORGIVE ME!!! *grovels at readers' feet* The university and an unexpected bout of bad luck (my computer took a two-week-holiday to Mandos) kept me from continuing the story…*sniff* Add a little bit of writer's block… Et voilá, we have a very, very bad combo…

And to think that I'm leaving for a three-week-long vacation makes my skin crawl with bad conscience. SO SORRY!!!!! 

This chapter was part of a larger one, but I decided to split it in two (cause I got stuck again-damn me!!!)…It's very late, so please excuse me (again) if my replies to you lovely people out there are so extremely unwitty and rubbish… I'm currently trying to keep my eyes open with chopsticks *eye lids droop lower* ouch!!!

CARRIE: How's Aragorn? I don't think he has complained too much… after all..it was me…*smirk* Arwen, stand aside, here comes Trish! *Aragorn runs away screaming* Ah…that felt so good! I LOVED YOUR REVIEW, MY HUGGABLE SPAWN OF DARKNESS!!!

FAER: Yup, I definitely wouldn't like to be in the hands of Eowyn, too, she is really... uhm… how should I say it… *unique*.

Ah well, I certainly wouldn't mind to tend to our little Legolas…*pictures Legolas confined to bed… to MY bed…*

FAITH: hehe… here you are… shape-shifter heads arolling… Thank you for the sweet review!

GWYN: Leggy is more than defiant…Just ask Gimli… *smirks* THANK YOU FOR THE LOVELY REVIEW!

LADYOFMIRKWOOD: Well, Legolas is not dead, not yet. After all, I had to sign a contract, I must return them all in the end (although it didn't specify their condition…*grins evilly*)

LEGOFILINDE: *waves* HELLO!!! I've just caught up with your fics, and…wow!!! Can't decide which one is better…if "The Bait", "Dragonrider", "Hidden"… I will review as soon as possible, I promise! I'm so sorry it took me so long for updating, but well, now I've got my lazy butt up and…here it is. I hope it meets the expectations…*head hangs low*

LEHEARA: I'm evil…so very, very evil…MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA *huggles Leheara* THANK YOU FOR COUNTING ME TO YOUR FAVOURITE AUTHORS.

LITTLEFISH: OMG,OMG,OMG…TOLKIEN HIM (or better HER-)SELF REVIEWED TO ME! *points proudly at one of ff.net greatest authors, sticking out a blinking sign* She reviewed to me, she reviewed to me *bounces happily* I got your review on my birthday, so it really made my day! It was one of the best presents I ever got! It really means so much to me… I have followed your advice and found two magnificent beta-readers *huggles Whit and Elwen* They will proof-read my fic from the next chapter on… THANX AGAIN!

LORWEN: I did it, I did it, I did it! *dances happily on her bed* Sent you FOTR extended version today. Hope you like it! *huggles Lorwen* See you in August at the chat!

NICOLA: Hallole! DANKE NOCHMALS FÜR ALLES!!! HOffe, dass Sirius mich nicht so sehr vermisst, während der ferien...Hey, das würde nämlich Folter-pause heißen...Ne, ne, wir e-mailen uns, und Gnade Eru Sirius *huggles Nicola*

RYOKO: Scary enough? Hopefully I got hooked you up … Thank you !!!

SHAAN LIEN: Me, horrid? Whatever gave you the idea? *ponders* Really don't know… My fic a good story?*blushes* Thank you!

SHANDRIAL: *gives her a strange look*Uh…you..actually like *fluff*? And *Arwen*? LOL…LOLOLOLOLOL….ROTFLAMO..MWAHAHAHAHAHAHAAHAHAHAHA…Am I seeing some nice Aragorn-Arwen-torture in the future? I certainly love fics which base upon Elrond's reaction towards Estel's love for his Undomiel.*whistles innocently* Have I given you a rabid plot bunny? I really hope so…

SKY BUM: Well…Next chappie will be the reunion chapter…*sobs pleading forgiveness*

WHITE WOLF: Stubborn? Our little prince stubborn? Nooo…*voice dripping with sarcasm* He is not the one smacking Aragorn senseless and riding off towards death *glares at author* Nonono… Ah, but as I said before... I wouldn't care to have my own little Elf Prince confined to a certain bed…stubborn or not…*contented sigh* I hope I did the battles scenes justice...

Chapter 8: LIKE A PHOENIX….

Night had descended early on the forest, wrapping it in its darkness as if to shield the Elven realm from unfriendly eyes. But it failed. As predicted, a large host of Orcs and Uruk-hai had marched in on them, fouling the ground with their evil presence. Their rotting stench hung heavily in the air, and masses and masses of them besieged Eryn Feredron, waiting the call of the night to launch their attack.

The Elves had barely had two days to anticipate their coming, and if it hadn't been for the fortification of the city having been started on the very day of King Elessar's arrival, everything might have been lost.

As things stood, the chance of defeat was more a promise than a threat.

Gimli growled.

_*Like Helm's Deep. Once again. Will we prevail, or…*_ He hadn't even the heart to consider the possibility, how likely a prospect it was._ *It's no good losing hope. Hope… Estel…* _Gimli glanced at his friend standing next to him, face solemn, bleakly gazing into something far beyond the range of mortal sight. _ *At least we have hope. Even if hope has lost himself.*_

"Hmmphhhh!" Bouncing up and down Gimli tried to get a better view at what was happening below him. _*Where's the necessity to build such high walls? Are the Elves afraid to fall down and break their-ah so graceful necks?*_ Cursing mentally he craned his neck only to jump startled as a hand was gently laid on his shoulder.

Aragorn was looking down at him, a wry half-smile on his face.

"Shall I tell you what's going on? Or… shall I fetch you a box, Master Gimli?"

Gimli just stared open-mouthedly at the king – and then barked a short laugh. A pang of guilt hit him - that had been exactly the words Legolas had said to him at Helm's Deep! Forlornly he remembered the beginnings of their friendship.

They had loathed each other from first sight and didn't let pass any occasion to provoke and insult each other. Nobody knew how – but gradually hate and mistrust had turned into friendship and brotherhood, and although both would rather kiss an Orc than admit their bond openly, if you crossed one you suddenly found yourself facing two formidable opponents.

Gimli grabbed the hilt of his axe tighter. They had been two faces of the same coin, and now he and Aragorn where alone.

Well, not exactly. There were thousands of Uruk-hai eager to keep them company.

*********

They were marching at a hard pace, pausing as little as possible. Although Legolas said little and certainly didn't push them everybody watching him was keenly aware of his unrest. The usually composed and serene Elf was shifting in his saddle, looking around, urging his mount onwards, only to ride back again to the rear of the company. Equally obvious was his weakness. His shoulders were slumped, and every now and then he had to steady himself in order not to fall from his horse.

Faramir watched him with growing concern as he turned his horse around once again, and grabbing Arod's reigns he finally brought horse and rider to a halt. 

"Will you stop prancing around, mellon nîn? You are making me slightly nervous. Not to mention my men. It's really not funny to have an Elf hovering over you."

Legolas simply stared at his friend, not really seeing him at all. "Legolas? Legolas!" 

Startled out of his reverie he tried to focus on him, his grey eyes slightly glazed over with pain, weariness and apprehension.

"I can feel them. I can feel them defiling Elvish soil." The words were barely a whisper, but their anxiety filled Faramir with dread. They were arriving too late.

Without warning a strong gust of wind swept over the company, startling the horses, forcing the riders to employ all their skill to stay seated, but the roaring wind muffled the men's shouts, and the foot soldiers found themselves holding at each other in order to remain upright against the force of the wind.

In midst of the chaos however, Legolas cocked his head, listening to the whispering of the trees. Watching him intently, Faramir pondered once again his friend's communion with nature. He was not only a Wood Elf, but also the Lord of this forest, and the trees had pledged him allegiance, guiding and informing him.

"What news, Legolas?" If someone had told Faramir some years ago that he would listen to the counsel of trees, he would have laughed at first and then swiftly proceeded to remove this poor delusional soul from his company. Mental instability wasn't very becoming for a ranger, after all.

But now he was sitting in his saddle, patiently awaiting the tidings of the forest.

Suddenly Legolas' body jerked, and he toppled from his horse. Startled Faramir leapt down and hurried at his friend's side, concern written all over his face. Legolas got to his knees slowly, panting hard, tremors racking his lean form. Kneeling down Faramir reached out to help him up.

"Legolas!" But the Elf was oblivious to his surroundings, kneeling on the forest floor, knuckles whitening from the vicious grip he had on the strands of grass. Agony was etched on his face, and he was mouthing frantically. Slowly the muted words were raised into a chant, a language even more ancient than Quenya spilled from his lips, its volume swelling simultaneously with the increasing glow of his body. The chanting drowned all sounds, and the men had to close their eyes in order not to be blinded with the bright light emitted by their Elven companion. Faramir staggered back as if physically struck, arms raised to defend himself from never coming blows. The chanting reached an ear-splitting volume, culminating in the Elvish war cry. "Elbereth Gilthoniel!"

The storm calmed abruptly as did the chanting. The only traces of the events transcurred were the strewn leaves and fallen braches around them. Faramir looked in horror at his friend, for the first time in his life afraid of him. He had never seen him like this. Legolas looked like one of the Valar, incredibly fair but terrible to behold. He couldn't discern his features apart from the piercing grey eyes. And what eyes! Blazing chips of mithril, with the depth of millennia of wisdom and millennia of wrath. The ire raging in his eyes was older than Legolas himself, it was the wrath of the Firstborns, the wrath of the high kings. Before him stood one of the last remaining Elven kings in Middle Earth, and Faramir felt as unworthy as never before in his life; if the creature in front of him had proceeded to squash him like a bug Faramir wouldn't have lift a finger to defend himself. 

"They are attacking Eryn Feredron." The statement was made flatly by an inhuman voice devoid of emotions and devoid of the usual lilting accent. Faramir couldn't do anything but nod numbly and stare.

"We have to hurry. It's still a two days ride. MOUNT AND MARCH!"

The soldiers who had fallen from their horses scrambled hurriedly atop of them, nobody questioning Legolas' assumption of the leadership. Urging their horses onwards the company rode off into the night.

***********

"Let me pass!" 

"Your highness, please, stay there. This is no place for you!"

"Who are you to assume the right to judge the place of the High Prince of Gondor? Get out of my way, soldier, or incur my wrath!" Shoving the anxious man out of his way Eldarion stormed up the stairs to the wall. 

"My lord, your highness, please…" The soldier gripped the shoulder of his prince, desperately trying to hold him back. Swirling around Eldarion pushed the soldier against the wall and with a surprising quickness, proof of his Elven heritage, pressed a dagger against the soldier's throat. The man looked at his prince wide-eyed, shocked, not believing having been bested by a twelve-year-old boy, half-elf or not.

"How dare you. HOW DARE YOU!" Eldarion's livid face was only inches from the poor man's one, his eyes blazing with an unearthly fury.

"What's the meaning of this? Explain yourselves!" Alerted by the commotion Aragorn had climbed down the stairs and now stood rooted to the spot beholding the scene displayed in front of him. Incredulousity, confusion and anger were the emotions racing over his face until he finally settled for a stern expression. His look brooked no argument, and slowly Eldarion lowered his dagger and stepped back. 

"He dared to stop me," Eldarion spat, "he dared to restrain me!" He looked ready to attack the frightened soldier again. His bearing had become increasingly aggressive and arrogant during the last days, and Aragorn was shocked to watch his son behaving in such a manner. 

"Your majesty, I tried to prevent him climbing the stairs. The outer wall is no place for your son, my king, the attack is about to be launched, and I feared for his life." The soldier had finally found his voice again, and the words tumbled out of him quickly, as if afraid not to be able to finish.

"I'm no child!" The soldier was interrupted heatedly, "I…"

"You certainly are!" Aragorn boomed. "And you are behaving like a spoiled brat at the moment, with less wit and reason than the twelve years you claim to be. Why, your little sister would behave with more intelligence than you, Eldarion. Say, *Princeling*, what possessed you to attack a guard of Gondor whose only intention is your safety and wellbeing? I'm disappointed with you." 

Eldarion blanched at his sire's outburst, seldom having seen him so furious, and especially never having been at the receiving end of such wrath. But instead to give in to the burning shame he felt, he straightened his shoulders, and head held high he chose to defy his father.

"Well, he should know better than to lie hands on me. And to stop me from giving those wretched creatures what they deserve. It really seems I am the only one caring what happened to Legolas. I certainly won't shun my responsibility like certain others!"

Rendered speechless at his son's insolence he blinked, breathing deeply to retain a semblance of calm, not wanting to say or do anything he might regret afterwards. Grinding his teeth he fought the urge to step forward and strike his wayward son. Aragorn had never raised hands against any of his children, not even spanked them despite their numerous antics and pranks, greatly detesting the idea of using violence with any of his loved ones. *_Maybe that was a mistake. *_ Appalled at his thoughts he scolded himself. *_He is hurting_,* he reasoned, _*trying to drown his grief with anger. You know from own experience that it is easier to be furious than to mourn. After all, he is still a boy.*_

Staring hard at his son Aragorn felt something inside him snap when he noticed the unrepentant eyes, the faint sneer on the handsome face. Before anybody could interfere, Aragorn slapped his son.

Once.

Twice.

Hard.

Reeling with the blows Eldarion staggered backwards, finally steadying himself against the wall. He brought up his hand to the stinging cheeks, staring incredulously at his father's impassive face. Not a flicker of emotion was to be discerned. Cold eyes locked with his. If possible, these eyes hurt even more than the delivered blows. Where there was usually to be found love and tenderness now there was positively nothing. Not even fury. 

Licking his lips Eldarion tasted the metallic taste of blood. Swiping away the faint trickle of blood with the back of his hand he felt tears threatening to spill and stiffled a sob.He was completely aware that he had brought this on himself, but this knowledge did little to lessen his misery. On the contrary, he loathed himself for what he had done, knowing that he had disappointed his father, his king. 

Aragorn watched in shock his son stumble backwards and then wiping away the blood from his split lip. He was completely numb as Eldarion stared at him, then at the blood, and then again back at him. Eyes were glistening with unshed tears, and confusion, pain and loathing were clearly mirrored in those grey eyes so much like his own. His heart constricted at the sight of his son's misery, and the loathing in Eldarion's eyes pierced him like a dagger. He was oblivious at the several Elves and Gondorian soldiers gaping at him, stunned and disbelieving. He himself could hardly believe the deed he had perpetrated. He had struck his own son! His own flesh and blood, his beloved heir! Unable to endure the hurt expression of him he turned around, and with a nod motioned his captain standing next to him to take his son.

"Take Eldarion below, and see that he stays out of mischief!"

Bowing low the captain raised his fist to his breast. "I'll guard him with my life, my lord. As long as I stand no harm will come to him."

Aragorn nodded curtly at this solemn vow, and with a last forgiveness pleading glance returned to the ledge of the outer wall. 

If possible, the night had darkened further, making it difficult to discern the black masses below. The flickering of the torches brought little light, on the contrary, the shadows cast by them increased the impression of desolation and imminent doom.

The archers were all positioned on the wall, bows ready, calmly awaiting the order to fire. They stood completely relaxed, nothing betraying their nervousness, faces determined. Outwardly relaxed Aragorn himself was taut like a bow string ready to release its lethal projectile. He surveyed the part of the outer wall he was in charge of, taking in the warriors surrounding him. His men were behind the archers, swords drawn. They, too, seemed unfazed with the prospect of being vastly outnumbered, but the white knuckles around the hilts and the grim faces told another story.

Among the archers there were Elves with pots full of boiling oil, eager the pour the scorching contents on anything daring to approach the wall.

Below them, in the outer yard there were more archers, bows drawn and arrows notched. They might be outnumbered, but by Eru, the beast would find that it was folly to taunt an Elf the hard way before the end of the night.

A huge roar redirected his attention onto the battle field. From among the masses a single cloaked creature stepped up and raising his arms every Orc fell quiet. An eerie silence followed. _*That's the calm before the storm.*_ Aragorn couldn't help thinking, shifting uncomfortably, glancing repeatedly at the warriors and the scene in front of him. He had seldom seen the Orcs behave so disciplinedly and to follow another's orders so completely before. Only once, in fact, when they had been lead by the Nazgul. Looking uneasily at the cloaked figure in midst the beasts he found himself wondering and fearing the creature able to instil such a terror in the Orcs.

"Elves, surrender and we will promise you a swift and painless death." It cackled, a sound that send shivers down the spine of even the most battle-hardened warriors." Otherwise you will meet the same fate of your Lord. It was such a pleasure to hear him scream. Never heard a sweeter melody!"

His insides clenched with burning anger, and before thinking twice he yelled. "FIRE!" His order was echoed by about a dozen other Elvish voices quaking with the same hatred.

All hell broke loose. A hail of arrows greeted the hordes breaking against the walls of the city, but for every Orc slain three more took his place. Volley after volley was released, but soon the warriors were hard-pressed to reject the avalanche, and ladders were leaned against the walls, the creatures starting to spill over the ledge. 

Screams of agony pierced the night, and the stench of blood and death hung heavily in the air.

Aragorn's sword seemed to have a life of his own, dancing forward and back, running through leather, slicing bone and flesh, the hilt was soon slick with the black blood of slain foes. He wielded it with a strength borne from wrath, and many Orcs screamed with fear and skittered away when confronted with the fire burning in the king's eyes. Not many lived to tell the tale.

Gimli and Aragorn fought side by side, each one guarding the other's back, but slowly they were driven apart by the sheer masses of opponents. An Elf collided heavily against Aragorn, throwing him to the ground. Eyes widened in horror locked with his before they glazed over. The Elf dropped down, a dagger protruding from his back.

Lying on the ground, Aragorn watched helplessly as an extremely large and nasty-looking Uruk-hai advanced on him, face drawn into a hideous leer. Obviously this one was a high-ranking officer, because once having been claimed by him as his own, the others retreated, occupying themselves with annoying the rest of the Elves. _*Yes,*_ Aragorn grinned sarcastically, _*leave the big bad bully all for __ me.*_ Desperately he scrambled to his knees, bringing up Anduril just in time to block the blow which would have neatly severed his head from his shoulders. The force of it drove him back to the ground, jarring his shoulder, sending jolts of pain through his arm.

Rolling sideways he evaded another thrust, and with a daring leap he was up again, only just avoiding the deadly blade, looking rather annoyedly at the large gash it left across his leather coat. "That was the finest leather of Rohan." He stated flatly, before lunging at the sneering Uruk-hai. Feinting to his right he thrust forward, but where he had hoped to bury his sword into flesh he suddenly sliced through thin air. Thrown out of balance by his own momentum he staggered forward, unable to reject his foe's swing, coming now from a completely unexpected corner.

Whether his attacker had been too eager to seize the opportunity quickly to aim properly, or whether Aragorn's stumbling had brought him out of the scimitar's path, he would never know, but the blade intended to slit his throat just glanced over his collar bone, leaving a nasty, if rather shallow gash across his upper chest and down his left arm.

White hot agony blazed over him, leaving him breathless. Spots started to dance in front of his eyes; he could feel the darkness tugging at the corners of consciousness. Struggling for air he knew that this distraction was his doom. He forced his eyes open, wanting to meet death face to face.

*****

A/N wouldn't that have been a nice place to leave the story... Quite a cliffie, don't you think? *ducks several blunt objects thrown in the writer's dierction* Oh, well, you disagree... *ducks lower* Okies, on with the story...

*****

But the blow never came. Blinking confusedly Aragorn stared at the bloody stump once raised to strike against him. He let his eyes slowly trail lower, resting on the rather smug-looking face of a certain dwarf. 

"Lad, you're nearly as bad as that pointy-eared treehugger. One moment out of sight and you have nothing better to do than to get yourself killed."

Despite the pain a smile spread across his face. "Well, Elvellon, I think I was doing rather well. But you have always been such a spoil-sport. One moment later, and I would have been able to make another notch on my sword. Now you have addled my … "trailing off both watched with growing horror at the Uruk in front of them. It had not collapsed due to the loos of blood, not even swayed. it simply looked at them in a very annoyed fashion, whilst apparently waiting calmly for his arm to regrow. And regrow it did.

"What in Aule's name…" Gimli was cut off rather unpolitely with a vicious blow sending him flying like a doll.

"Blasted Dwarves. Nearly as annoying as those filthy Elves. But they will be next." 

Startled out of his stupor by the chilling sound of the accursed creature's voice, Aragorn raised Anduril and rushed at it with an inarticulate cry, taking it by surprise. With a sickening crunch the head rolled off the body to his feet. He watched it with trepidation, expecting it to sprout a second head again in a few seconds, and jumped back in shock as both head at his feet and body turned into dust.

"Sweet Eru, " he murmured under his breath, "what was that?"

"Cant-ulûn! The Valar help us, there are cant-ulûn among them!" Someone yelled. Aragorn felt his blood turn into ice. How often had he listened to the tales in the Hall of Fire, sitting on his father's lap, the tales of the most terrible foes of the Firstborn, their hatred and their lust for death? Glorfindel himself had taught him everything about them, their history, their strengths, their weaknesses, their tactics and the battles fought against them. They had been thought dead, already few in number finally completely wiped out from Arda's face in the Last Battle along with their master, the Dark Lord. And now… Now they had returned, and the last pieces started to fall into place. Now it became clear what had succeeded to surprise Legolas' company, and why they had been defeated. The slaughter, the defiling of the corpses, even the Orc's compliance. Now there was an explanation for the many questions which had been nagging at their minds for the last week. The solution of the riddle was here, but instead of helping them, the solution only brought more fear and destruction.

How many were still out there? How many had not yet joined the battle? Enough to bring the Elves of Ithilien on the brink of destruction, that much was obvious.

Cries of fear and anger echoed through the darkness, and the battle accelerated its pace. Finally confronted with the enemy responsible for all their misery, the Elves fought even more furiously than before, desperately awaiting the call of the dawn. Slowly, nearly imperceptibly the tide of the battle started to turn towards more friendly odds.

Aragorn found himself cornered again by several Orcs, but he was too busy saving his hide to ponder if there were shape-shifters among his attackers. Metal clashed against metal, the sound ringing in their ears. HIdeous faces leered at his exhaustion, as he was slowly but steadily driven towards the ledge, and he could feel the weariness creeping into his bones; he was growing light-headed from the blood-loss, finding it harder and harder to remain standing or even keeping his eyes open. He wouldn't last any longer, and his thoughts strayed towards his son. Oh how he longed to hold him one last time, telling him how much he loved him, and asking forgiveness for striking him. He wanted his son to know how proud he was of him. And now he would see his son never again. He only hoped that the Captain might find an opppurunity to bring him to safety. Would Arwen ever forgive him?

Starting out of his reverie he was more than astounded to find himself bereft of opponents; they all lied sprawled on the ground, Elven arrows protruding from their backs.

A strong arm hauled him towards the stairs, and the last thing Aragorn saw before collapsing was the concerned face of Neviâth, the Captain of Eryn Feredron.

**********

TBC….

ACK! SO SORRY! I HAD PLANNED FOR THE REUNION TO TAKE PLACE IN THIS CHAPTER BUT IT IS ALREADY WELL OVER MIDNIGHT, AND I'M LEAVING FOR MY HOLIDAY… I WAS STUCK IN MIDDLE OF THE NOW FOLLOWING CHAPTER, UNABLE TO PROCEED, MY BRAIN WAS SIMPLY TOO BEFUDDLED. THE NEXT CHAPTER, HOWEVER IS NEARLY ALL WRITTEN; I WILL POST IT BETWEEN AROUND THE 25TH OF AUGUST, AS SOON AS I RETURN FROM MY VACATION…

MMHH…THREE WEEKS OF SUN, BEACH AND…AHHHH!!!!! NO INTERNET *breaks down sobbing* I CERTAINLY DON'T KNOW HOW AND *IF* I WILL BE ABLE TO HANDLE THIS…

The next chapter will be called "...FROM THE ASHES" and here Legolas will arrive at his city. But...What will he find? Will there be a reunion... or only another royal funeral? And what about Gimli? Stay tuned and find out on the 25th/ 26th of August...Mwahahahaahah

ONCE AGAIN, I'M SOOO SORRY FOR TAKING AGES TO UPDATE, ONLY TO LEAVE YOU WITH THIS CRAPPY CHAPTER… I THINK IT'S MY WORST ONE SO FAR… HOWEVER, I'D BE DELIGHTED IF YOU WERE SO KIND TO PRESS THAT LOVELY BUTTON DOWN HERE, AND LEAVE A REVIEW…

*pulls out golden chain and swings it in front of the reader's eyes* you will press the button, you will press the button, you will press the button…


	9. Interlude

*walks in and ducks several flying objects* Uh, well, hello people…Missed me? *steps to the side evading some sharp, pointy thing coated with a dark fluid*. Guess that means…yes? *coughs violently*. 

I know, I promised an update nearly a month ago, but, uhm, how should I say… Real Life got into my way. Or better said, my parents. They heartily disagree about me spending time on the internet, let alone writing fics. And they make their displeasure openly and loudly known. So I wrote all the chapter nine on paper *gasp, yes there still is something out there which in former ages was used to –WRITE—upon!!!* So, 40 pages later, I finished it… And started to transfer it bit by bit on my computer. Alas, the Valar hate me, I think it's official now. I have two rather nasty exams (physical chemistry—now that's an evil word if there ever was one), so the transferring thingy is very, very much slowed… So, I decided to post this little part of it, kind like a longish author's note with an attachement. 

It's not chapter 9, but 8b, an interlude to see how Legolas and Faramir are faring.

Something like a teaser, an appetizer, or simply a way to let you people know I haven't dropped off the planet - yet.

As my time on the internet is very limited, I'm afraid I can't post the reviewer's responses this time. But I want you to know, that I LOVE YOU!!!!! I LOVE YOU ALL!!! YOU KEEP ME GOING!!! THANX A BUNCH!!!!*huggles reviewers*

Very special thanks to my beta Katiestar… YOU ARE AWESOME, DARLING!!! *huggles Tux* I hope the swelling has gone down yet, if not, remember that hamsters are very cute… Thanks a bunch.

Thanks, too, go to Shandrial… She more or less gave me the push I needed to post this little chapter. *huggles her only to find some sharp thing poking into her back* Uhm, Shandrial…?

I would like to seize the opportunity to recommend to you the stories of those two talented authors as are Katiestar and Shandrial. You can find them under these pen names or under my favourite stories/author's section at my bio page

Well, on with the story…

Disclaimer: Tolkien is God, Iluvitar himself, and I am nothing….but a Valar!!! *cackles* 

Therefore, as a Valar, I am allowed to mess…Ehem,*coughs* , _interact_ with his creations. It's what Morgoth did, after all,*thunder and lightning* Ooops… I forgot… S-sorry. *whispers* A good advice: Never mention M****** when He's around. There's not surer way to piss Him off! *more lightning and thunder* Ok, ok, I will be silent! *grumbles* My, is he demanding today…

DARKNESS STIRS

Chapter 8b: INTERLUDE: Of Princes and Princes  
  


Legolas sighed. As much as the soldiers tried, they advanced only slowly, hindered by the territory and more importantly, their limited strength. He knew they were trying hard to get to Eryn Feredron as soon as possible, but it was certainly no use if they arrived too exhausted to fight. The question was if their eagerness to reach the Elven city was solely based on the desire to aid their allies, or if they were driven by their fear of him. Ever since that fateful event hours ago they had been watching him; he could feel their looks on him, frightened, astonished ones, full of suspicion. Faramir himself was watching him constantly, but whenever he looked at him, he averted his eyes, refusing to meet his. The soldiers, too, had withdrawn from him discreetly, to give him more privacy. 

*_Or more space to break my neck, should I decide to fall from my horse again. And who can blame them? I would be less than thrilled, too, to fight alongside a madman given to sudden attacks. I'm sure they blame me for the storm. Little do they know that they wouldn't have survived the night without my intervention…*_

Once again Faramir's eyes seemed to burn through his back. Tired of this awkward situation Legolas steered his horse next to him. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the soldiers silently draw closer, casting ill-concealed apprehensive glances his way. Though knowing better, Legolas felt hurt. Years of working and fighting side by side, and a few minutes were sufficient to reawaken ancient fears and superstitions_. *Or maybe they weren't gone altogether, but simply buried in the back of their minds,* _he sighed inwardly. Squaring his shoulders he forced his facial muscles into a lopsided grin and shot Faramir a questioning look. Unable to evade Legolas anymore because he was simply too close, Faramir eyed him wearily, as if expecting him to sprout wings or a tail. Legolas smiled wickedly. Looking down at himself he arched an eyebrow. 

"Have I grown three legs while I wasn't looking, or are you just so entranced by my beauty that you can't take your eyes off me?" Grinning cockily he leaned closer whispering conspiratorially. "I'd be careful with Eowyn if I were you. I'm sure she is one of the jealous kind, and I'd really hate it if you awoke one morning only to see that your wife had thought it fitting to relieve you of certain parts of your body I'm sure you are very attached to…" 

"If it were only some member or other she would remove…Knowing her it I'd be more likely to wake up with a dagger buried in my heart!" Faramir replied dryly, unconsciously covering the most treasured part of his body with a hand. "Besides, I'm sure she would lay the blame on the correct person," he gave his friend a pointed look, "after all, who is the debauched one, laying claim on everything that has two legs - although as rumours go, it is said that counting is not really one of your strengths…" Nimbly ducking a swing at his head he steered his horse out of Legolas' reach.

"Nay, mellon nîn, it's not your beauty I crave, but…Oh Legolas, what happened earlier? The storm, the light… Your chanting! I must confess you scared me witless."

Shrugging his shoulders, Legolas pondered. "I really don't know. If I hazarded a guess, I would think it was some ancient magic of the forest. You know how attached we are to our surroundings, and it was only due to that that my father was able to protect some of Mirkw…I mean Eryn Lasgalen, from the shadows." Legolas cleared his throat to cover his embarrassment at having misnamed his own home, shooting Faramir an warning glare that spoke volumes about his desire to tear the former ranger limb from limb, should he as much as breathe in the following seconds. Satisfied of having deterred him from such a suicidal action, he continued. "We didn't possess one of the three, as Imladris or Lothlorien did, so we had to protect ourselves with our sweat and blood. That's why we Wood Elves are some of the best warriors on Middle-Earth!" Unaware of the amused look of his friend at this less than modest statement, he simply carried on. "The magic of the earth and the forest aided us, shielding our warriors from unfriendly eyes and reporting to us the goings on of our enemy. I thought that only my father was privy to the power to bend the forest to his will, but it seems than I am, too. This forest is old, very old, and full of wrath and memories. It has been mistreated and abused too long by Sauron's minions so that it had to develop defence mechanisms. Now darkness is stirring again in these woods, the defence mechanisms have been reactivated, it was obviously one of these that we encountered." He drifted off, lost in thought. Slight tremors wracked his body, and he huddled closer to the horse, as if seeking comfort in its body's warmth. 

"We will arrive in time. By tomorrow evening we will be there, and I'm really looking forward to kicking them back to the holes they crept from. Don't forget, Aragorn and Gimli are there too. Knowing them, they might want to keep all the fun for themselves!" Faramir tried to cheer up the Prince, grinning broadly as it elicited a weak chuckle from his friend. 

"Aye, you are right, as always, Master human. But maybe it might be wise to take a short break for the remainder of the night. Your soldiers have already picked up the elvish trait of sleeping with open eyes. Unfortunately, they lack our grace and our coordination, so unless we want to lead an army full of people with stubbed toes, bumps on the head or more grievous injuries, we should stop." 

"I fully agree, oh wise one. We wouldn't want to shame you by mastering this skill in one night; you had to hone it over centuries, after all…" This time Faramir had not much luck in avoiding Legolas, and he rubbed his head gingerly, glaring at the very pleased-looking Elf. Ignoring him he turned towards his men and called for a stop. The soldiers dismounted, and relieved sighs echoed through the night. He smiled. The short banter with Legolas had served its purpose; it had eased the tension considerably. Those who had overheard their conversation were now eagerly spreading the good news that Prince Legolas had saved them through ancient Elven magic. 

"By dinner time they will fully believe you will squash our foes by snapping your fingers or simply telling the earth to open up and swallow them, Legolas." He teased his friend. But instead of picking up on his clue and continuing with the banter, the Elf suddenly looked aggravated. 

"Much good will it do," he muttered darkly, "as soon as the battle starts they will realize that my blood is as easily spilled as theirs and that no magic will come and rescue us. What will happen then?" 

Faramir sobered immediately when he sensed Legolas' changed mood. Apparently the time for banter was over, and so he simply resorted to squeezing the Elf's arm reassuringly. 

"Let them believe, Legolas. As long as they have faith there is no place for fear and despair in their hearts. As you know from your own experience, nothing is worse than a disheartened warrior. By the time they realize that no magic will be involved in the battle you will be already fighting alongside them. They will love you the more for it too. Nothing else gains their respect and love like having your leaders facing the enemy with them, in the front lines." 

Legolas smiled weakly. "True are your words and full of wisdom. Valar!" he exclaimed, "The day has come that I am comforted by the words of a barely weaned child!" He shook his head in mock disgust. Faramir stared hard at his friend and then simply shrugged his shoulders in resignation. A deep sigh escaped him. _*Elves! I have yet to find someone who claims to understand these fey creatures… More mood swings than pregnant women!* _

Legolas had already ridden forward, silently shaking with laughter. But Faramir was unwilling to loose this particular war of wits.

"Well, it seems that Gimli was right after all, oh ancient one." At that Legolas halted his horse and stiffened. Faramir chuckled. Mentioning Gimli was always the infallible way to gain the Elf's full attention. Legolas turned in his saddle and shot him a quizzical look. 

"Pray tell, what wise words leaked out of that bottomless hole in his beard that dwarf calls his mouth?" 

"That your age is finally telling. He always proclaims you are naught but an old tottering fool. He seems to be right, after all!" 

Once again Faramir was taken off guard, and he suddenly found himself lying on his back, staring at the starry night. Before he had time to wonder how it came to be that one moment he was high on his horse, looking into the face of an irritated Elf-Lord and the next moment he was on the ground, a face appeared in his line of sight. Legolas. Again. 

"Is it comfortable down there, mellon nîn?" he beamed. Faramir growled silently as he noticed that some of the soldiers had gathered around them, desperately struggling to keep their faces straight and utterly failing. It was truly not a common sight to see your Prince flung unceremoniously from his mount by another member of the aristocracy. Nor for two so distinguished people to behave so… improperly, childishly even. 

Legolas couldn't care less for propriety and simply laughed uproariously into his face until tears started streaming down his cheeks. With a growl Faramir lunged at him. Maybe he shouldn't have forgotten that Legolas was an Elf after all, an Elf with Elven reflexes, an Elf who simply stepped aside and watched interestedly Faramir's flight- and especially his landing. Once again Faramir was lying down on the ground. This time face down. 

"Ah, finally Prince Faramir has found his place," he drawled into Faramir's ear, " on the ground, at my feet." He graced Faramir with a feral smile. Faramir grabbed at the ankles in front of his nose, but Legolas danced easily to the side. "Tut, tut, my dear Prince, it seems you haven't learned your lesson after all. Maybe another mouthful of dust would be helpful?" 

Someone cleared his throat behind them. Faramir got up slowly, dusting his clothes with as much dignity as he could muster under such conditions, while Legolas was leaning lazily against a tree. Beregond, Ithilien's first guard eyed them disapprovingly. Under his scrutiny Faramir started to fidget and had to suppress his urge to shuffle his feet guiltily. Legolas, however, was completely unfazed, but watched Faramir with open amusement. 

"Well, your Highnesses, maybe you could join the counsel to plan the battle strategy after you have stopped grappling like peasant boys." Faramir bristled at such disrespect but refrained from pointing it out to Beregond, for he among few others had earned the right to speak his mind freely and if he thought that his Prince deserved a scolding, he would do so and all protests would only worsen his dressing down. So Faramir simply settled for a withering glare and a royal sniff and walked with his head held high towards the now erected tents. Legolas snorted and after a mock sweeping bow in front of Faramir – which he wisely ignored - followed him silently. 

Legolas wrapped his cloak more tightly around him, because although the nightly chill didn't affect him, another sort of coldness seeped into his bones, wearing him down. The whispers of the forests were growing louder. They were telling him that Eryn Feredron was loosing. Loosing badly. 

TBC…. Next update tentatively scheduled…*hey, look at that squirrel!* Lol, just kidding. My exams will be over on October the 2nd, so I will transfer every bit on the computer on that very day. Then I will send it off to my amazing beta… And if everything progresses nicely, the chapter 9: … FROM THE ASHES will be online next weekend (4th/5th of Oct) I know I have announced updates previously only to have failed, so you have no reason to believe this time to be different. Well, if I haven't update then, you know I'm dead or very close to it, for nothing short of that will impede me from transferring and posting it!!!

About the sexual innuendo between Faramir and our damn hot Elf… This is not a slash fic (and not because I don't like them, quite on the contrary, I'm a fanfic-fanatic, and I read just about everything).

Faramir belongs to Eowyn, and she is very possessive about him (just ask the poor scullery maid that dared to lay eyes on him… or Faramir for that matter. I guess he hasn't recovered yet from the shock – poor sod).   
About our favourite Elf's preferences… I don't know whether he is gay, hetero or bi, you'll have to ask him yourself. I don't know what he's doing in his private life, I've only hired him from dusk till dawn to have my wicked way with him (not what you think! *glares* we have a strictly professional relationship!) I know these aren't ideal working conditions- but hey, look at the job market! Even a Prince has to take what he gets nowadays!

Enough rambling, I think it's enough non-sense for today… Just one little thing, before I forget…*coughs, pointing discreetly at a certain button at the bottom* Ehem, that would be awfully kind…


End file.
